Monday: Day 2, Pre-Cleanse.

So far, so good. The only mistake I made last night was eating a handful of Ritz crackers, but I didn't get too carried away, thank goodness. Beyond that, all I ate were fruits and vegetables and a little bit of deli meat to compliment the salad. I ate an apple and grapes and watermelon and green beans with garlic and a tablespoon of butter. I actually COOKED, is the point. I drank tons and tons of water and had to go to the bathroom all afternoon. I cut up cucumbers and ate some and stored them in water so that I could eat some today.

I made chai green tea for J and me. Today I will eat pineapple and more watermelon and a banana and salad again for lunch and broccoli at dinner. I will drink tons of water again and bring leftovers to work tomorrow. As of this morning, I definitely feel strange health-wise, but lighter.

I went to the Evanston Public Library for the first time yesterday and got my library card because I knew I'd be needing some serious poetry support for this week when I am starving. The words will have to be my solid food until next week. I decided to print out a list of all the US Poet Laureates and read samples of their poetry and then get library books of the ones I really liked. The most connected I felt were to WS Merwin and Kay Ryan, but I picked up volumes of them and Mark Strand, Charles Simic, and Ted Kooser (who I also REALLY like). I will be posting their poetry as I finish the books. I read the entire "That Little Something" by Simic last night and am going to read it again today. Poetry touches my heart in a way nothing else can, and I had forgotten that.

So, onward and upward on this journey. I have a bridal shower this Saturday and don't know how many drinks i'll need to bring, but I am fully, mentally prepared for everything I am doing and looking forward to the results, both emotionally and physically. And now I will leave you with a poem by Simic, dedicated to the brilliant Li-Young Lee.

THAT LITTLE SOMETHING

The likelihood of ever finding it is small.
It's like being accosted by a woman
And asked to help her look for a pearl
She lost right here in the street.

She could be making it all up,
Even her tears, you say to yourself,
As you search under your feet,
Thinking, Not in a million years. . .

It's one of those summer afternoons
When one needs a good excuse
To step out of a cool shade.
In the meantime, what ever became of her?

And why, years later, do you still,
Off and on, cast your eyes to the ground
As you hurry to some appointment
Where you are now certain to arrive late?