I should clarify. By fell, I mean, jumped, with deliberate force, off the Diet Coke wagon. My plan for bashing my D.C. addiction, I thought, was a good one. I would buy the small 7.5 oz. mini cans (or as I like to call them, "baby Diet Cokes") and trick my brain into thinking, by holding onto the cold aluminum can, that I was drinking the normal 12 oz can of garbage and, therefore, I would consume less.
That isn't exactly how this mess played out. I just drank more baby Diet Cokes. I actually drank more than before! I did. I can't help but wonder if the Coca-Cola Corporation anticipated this happening and kicked me off the wagon before I could travel out of my own driveway? I feel better having confessed that my Diet Coke habit is still a habit. I'm trying again, and right now, I'm waiting for the wagon to circle back around and pick me the hell up, but I'm adorably disappointed in myself.
And...because Poseidon refers to Diet Coke as "Devil Juice," and I asked him to add D.C. to the grocery list, this is what I found waiting for me in the kitchen yesterday evening: