2003-05-20 - 12:37 p.m.

My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket just walked into my office and stood in front of my somewhat-cluttered desk to ask me a simple question. As she stood there, I tried desperately to focus on her� to see the person standing in front of me, but it was no use.

All I saw was a giant DIET COKE� with my girlfriend/ same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/beverage-of-choice�s head on top. Don�t get me wrong, that�s quite a sexy head, but her human head was hovering above the steamy/sexy carbonation of the DIET COKE�.

She told me that if I do nothing else today (which is a great possibility on most days), I must write about my recent DIET COKE� DEMISE.

Back-story (ish):

For years, DIET COKE� was my mistress. I�ve written about it in these very pages. HOWEVER, almost a year ago (that�s right, almost a year of DIET COKE SOBRIETY) my therapist (ish) and I (yeah, and I, right�) decided it might be good if I weren�t quite so mood-dependant on DIET COKE�.

I gave it all the power. It was my Scientology and I was it�s Juliette Lewis (Tom Cruise would have been too obvious); It was my electric car and I was it�s Ed Begley Jr; It was my QVC� and I was it�s Marie Osmond�s Life-Like/Life Size Ceramic Dolls�; It was my WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION� and I was it�s�. toppled statue.

So, back-story and obsession-level in place, we cut to the weeks leading up to last week; World Events, Local Events, Good Friends breaking up (and me, the fixer, unable to fix it); My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket�s involvement(ish) in an brief POP CULTURE SCANDAL (2 nights on ET, Magazine coverage, etc), Mothers Day (ish), and a side order of ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ELSE, and I was at the end of what used to be my rope but was now a poor excuse for dental floss.

It wasn�t pre-meditated. The wagon-fall-off-age. Not at all. I hadn�t even been thinking about DIET COKE�. I�d gotten used to the signage, the TV commercials, hearing other people order it at restaurants, passing the 7-11�s etc. It had become commonplace for me. No big deal. Temptation? What temptation??

Suddenly, it�s last Thursday and I find myself in a �healthy fast food� Mexican Restaurant for lunch (Let�s say Rubio�s Baja Grill�� it�s real name) and I ordered my usual salad sans the salsa (salsa should be a choice) and I found myself ordering the LARGE self-serve cup. Hmmmm, why? I usually get the bottled water. Oh, maybe my subconscious was planning to treat itself to a sugary drink like a SPRITE� or a HI-C FRUIT PUNCH� (how kicky and playful of my sub-conscious).

I made my way to the BEVERAGE STATION with all it�s choices and viewed them thoughtfully:

Barq�s Root Beer � , Minute Maid Lemonade �, Coke � All were no big deal. My eyes didn�t even pause at these spouts. I continued, perusing the Sprite � and the Hi-C Fruit Punch �� but couldn�t commit to either one. I moved my GIANT EMPTY CUP under the ICE CUBE CHUTE and began filling my GIANT EMPTY CUP, as is the foreplay to any self-serve beverage situation. It was as that GIANT EMPTY CUP was filling with the perfectly formed small-ish ice cubes that my eyes settled on the DIET COKE � spout.

It looked at me, I looked at it� then we both looked away. Then it looked at the older guy standing behind me at the ICE TEA DISPENSER, then back at me, then away again� quickly, as if that second look had never even taken place. Oh, but it had.

I looked over my shoulder, the way a mother-f�n crook/addict does right before they are about to be crooked or use�. And I put my now-filled-with-ice GIANT CUP directly under the DIET COKE� spout�. And I pushed. I pressed into it the way a sexy couple in a darkened doorway would�. Urgent. Faster, I thought. It looked at me as I pressed into it and we both knew the magic I�d be feeling soon. I loved it and hated it at the same time, simultaneously, if you will.

Meanwhile, at the SALSA STATION/BAR/SITUATION, my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket was busy �salsa-ing up� (similar to lawyer-ing up) and she didn�t even know that there was an outside world that existed beyond her and the SALSA STATION/BAR/SITUATION. She enjoys her condiments.

I now had the contraband in my hand and I carried it like a virgin bride to our table. I watched and pretended to listen to everything my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket was saying, but as her mouth moved, all I heard were the effervescent bubbles of the DIET COKE begging me to partake. I knew I needed to be casual, as I wasn�t sure I was ready to come-clean (so to speak) just yet. I knew that since I had leapt, there would be AT LEAST one refill involved.

So� I drank� and drank� and drank some more. I refilled. Yes. Twice.

Just before we were ready to leave (salad? what salad??), I realized I needed to confess my sin. Yes, in addition to being my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket, she also had to be my DIET COKE SOBRIETY SPONSOR.

I fessed up. I wept. I belched (maybe).

That night, I had the most intense, guilt-ridden MIGRAINE HEADACHE in the history of intense, guilt-ridden MIGRAINE HEADACHES.

The subsequent days were filled with guilt, flashbacks and more guilt�. And fantasies about how I could manage my life USING DIET COKE IN MODERATION. Oh, the sadness. Moderation, my ass. Never.

So, now� still�. Yet�. I crave. I wish. I know I can�t manage it. I soooooooo know that I am one step away from doing my own version of LEAVING LAS VEGAS with me in the Nicholas Cage role and DIET COKE in the Alcohol role.

Not gonna happen.

So, I begin again. My name is Lv2write00 and I�ve gone 4 days without a DIET COKE.

Welcome to my personal hell (ish).