No, the title of this entry doesn’t allude to my metaphoric battle with heroin. It’s literal. I simply cannot stop drinking shitty energy drinks.
Years and years ago, I started drinking Red Bull in the morning. It gave me that pep in my step I needed and, quite frankly, Red Bull tastes like I’m sucking from the teat of God herself. Red Bull is fucking delicious. Like, if you’ve never tried it, you don’t know what you’re missing. It tastes like pure sugar mixed with the drippings from Aphrodite’s lady lips. It’s divinity in a can.
It’s also very, very shit for me. After a while, I started drinking Monster. Monster is less divine. Monster is just cheaper and bigger. So…more caffeine + more sugar = Shaun being a happy and productive boy. It used to give me the burning fire I needed to get through an otherwise arduous morning. Monster (only the green one. The rest taste like dreck) has been my go-to drink for fucking ages now.
And so comes the time to quit. Surprisingly, it’s really not that easy. At all. If I don’t inject some kind of energy drink directly into my veins in the morning, my brain-box convinces me I’m knackered. It’s all. “Where’s my sugar!? Where’s my Taurine!? What the fuck IS Taurine!? Oh, you’re not giving me any? Night night”. My brain’s a proper cunt.
So I start coming up with these ridiculous schemes. Like this morning. This morning, instead of getting a big bastard of a Monster, I got the smaller Red Bull. bot the smallEST Red Bull. Just a Red Bull that happens to be smaller than a Monster.
I then bought myself a giant bottle of water as though my guzzling water would somehow bypass the fact I’d drank a shitty energy drink.
Oh and side note, energy drinks do NOTHING for me anymore. They don’t wake me up. They don’t put a spring in my step. They do absolutely fuck all. And yet I can’t…stop…drinking them.
I wouldn’t go as far as to say it’s a problem, but it’s a royal pain in the arse. I’ve been deceived by canned energy. I feel like Ethan Hawke in “Training Day” when Denzel gives him the Angel Dust: “Shaun, do you know what you’re drinking? Monster, crack, PCP, sherm, leak…” Then he calls me the ‘N’ word and sets me up to be shot in the face by angry Latinos.
I know I’m pissing and moaning about nothing, but I’m TRYING to get at least a smidgen more healthy. My body could be in such a better state than it is. I’m 34 and I’m pretty saw I’ve got about two years before my body falls apart.
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