6:23 a.m. Black coffee. No cream, no sugar. Not a problem, since this is how I like my coffee. Of course, because I’m mom-of-the-year, I’ve just placed a pan of cinnamon rolls into the oven, and in 12 to 14 minutes, when they are golden brown and dripping with icing, I’m going to want one. Mind you, I never eat this early. It’s only because I can’t. But it’s liquid diet day! Woo hoo!
10:00 a.m. Hungry. Just two more hours before I start drinking the evil potion. Piece of cake, I tell ya. I’m even gonna drop a couple pounds. Mmmm. Nice cup of chicken broth. The breakfast of champions.

12:00 p.m. Guess what I had for lunch? Three Dulcolax. Hell yeah. I could drink some more broth, but then again, no. At 1:00, I start the drink of death. Let’s save the appetite, shall we?

1:00 p.m. Gulp, gulp, gulp. Glass number 1. The first of many, every fifteen minutes, until, well, until I’m “clear.” How am I going to discuss what I’m doing without discussing what I’m doing? I guess I should have thought of that. Gonna need more ice next go round. Chilling will help.

1:15 p.m. Bring it on. Hubby was such a baby when he did this. Moaning and groaning about the taste. Bring it.

1:30 p.m. This tastes like, um, ass.

1:50 p.m. Four glasses and three laxative tablets and I’m just sitting pretty. No action down there.

2:15 p.m. Fifth glass. May I never, ever drink a glass of lemonade again. Whose idea was it to flavor this stuff with Crystal Light? Oh, yeah. Mine.

2:30 p.m. A rumble. Ahem. Be right back.

2:45 p.m. Can you believe my freakin’ boss just called me? Do you know what pleasure it gave me knowing that I was, well, you know, while I was talking to him?

3:00 p.m. Time for glass number six.

3:01 p.m. Uh oh.

3:02 p.m. NO!

4:00 p.m. Let me just say that glasses number 1-6 just made their way UP my digestive system and OUT — into the garbage can. Do I need to mention that that is the wrong direction? Damn. I’m going to take a nap.

4:25 p.m. Glass number seven. Or glass number one. Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Excuse me. I’ll, um, be right back.

4:50 p.m. Glass number eight. Did I mention this stuff tastes like ass?

5:04 p.m. This stopped being fun like hours ago.

5:27 p.m. Glass number nine. I just decided to go look at how much is left. I’m feeling much better about this having seen that I’m nearing the end. And…um, wait. BRB.

6:00 p.m. Um, this stuff tastes like…oops, gotta go.

7:00 p.m. Friday Night Lights! A reprieve!

7:01 p.m. Not so fast.

8:00 p.m. Great episode. And lengthy commercial breaks. For, you know.

8:27 p.m. Hubby just brought me a cup of broth since I’ve not eaten. One sip. That’s it for me. May I never see chicken broth or Crystal Light lemonade again. Ever.

8:30 p.m. I almost brought it all up again. Did I mention how this stuff tastes? How much longer?

9:00 p.m. Gah. Please tell me I’m almost…oops. BRB.

9:30 p.m. Last effin’ glass. Double gah.

10:00 p.m. I hate my doctor, his cute nurse, and my family. And you too. All of yous.

10:15 p.m. Blech. Going to bed. Part II tomorrow.

And don’t say I didn’t warn you.