Soda, I hate you

I'm addicted to Soda. I know, stupid right? Why can't I just stop drinking it? It should be easy, no?

No.

Seriously, I had no idea how hard it can be to cut out something like this but it's brutal. If I want a pop, and I don't have one, I will chew my own arm off in search of one. It's delicious, and cool, and bubbly. Who could complain? It takes away my headaches. It makes me less crabby. Why not have one?

Except having one only exacerbates the problem. I feel like I'm a smoker and trying to quit. It's ridiculous that a bubbly drink has this kind of hold on me. But that's the game, oh soda pop, isn't it? You go down easy, and grab hold of my senses, and never let go. You make me think I need you, and then make me dependent on you, all the while sitting back and laughing as the pounds appear on my butt and thighs. But I can't quit, can I? No...you're smarter than that. You made sure to stick a hook in me that will take the strength of a thousand Hercules' more work than I realized to unstick. You wanted me to know I needed you, and know I needed to quit you, all the while getting another pop. You knew you could control me, but you want me to know it too.

Well played, Sodi-pop. Well played.

*** This post may be slightly exaggerated.