The boredom has been replaced by physical pain. So much fruit... my body can't handle all this sugar. Rebecca baked some kale chips to snack on, and they're pleasantly crunchy but unpalatable without... okay, I cheated. I took a shot of Tabasco Steak Sauce to wash down a mouthful of these things. I was just really hungry, I was about 500 calories short of my minimum daily required intake, I had to eat something. I couldn't shove another banana down my gullet.
Today I'm headachy and dizzy. After three cups of green tea I've gotten the headache down to a manageable level. I cannot take any more grapes, though. I'm seriously going to bite into the side of a gourd and grimace and choke it down just to feel something in my stomach. Neither of us have pooped since starting this cleansing, either. What the hell? Do all these mystical and unnameable "toxins" just crystalize and flake out of our skin? Turn into vapor? With all this vegetable fiber and tea, why have we stopped pooping?
The boredom is crushing. I can't even pick up a pen to write another segment of letter. I thought I'd get a lot of writing done today but it's not happening. I did read the entire first half of Hilary Winthrop's My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me, and I used my allotted online time to research who this creepy boyfriend was. Now I know, and it's hard to look at a picture of him without thinking about all his sexual hangups, his OCD, his bizarre feeding restrictions, etc. If I'd just seen him on the street I merely would've written him off as a douche, but knowing as much as I do about him, it's hard to look his image in the eye without needing a shower.
But the boredom. I took two naps last night, slept a full eight hours, and had another nap in mid-day just because of the boredom. We tried playing a board game but we're both so malnourished and irritable that it ended badly. I should be disappointed in myself: if the grid went down, I'd be the one stripping off my clothes, smearing my body in scavenged exterior all-weather latex paint, and howling from the tops of abandoned buildings just to have something to do. I would not be Honest John, patching up my cabin with horse manure, whittling a bear out of a stick, playing songs about crossing rivers on my banjo.
Now, just to mix things up, I'm going to go wash my dress shirts because I have an interview tomorrow. I wonder what I'm allowed to eat on this cleansing to prepare me adequately for this.