The good

No, I haven’t had hundreds of fake tan sessions lately, nor does my orange shine come from my unbound love for Dutchmen – although I must give them credit for the idea of “food out of a wall” & coffee shops (goes together quite well). They do have a really bad football-team though…

Overnight, I have turned into a giant carrot a la Franz Kafka’s metamorphosis. For all of you who still don’t know what I am talking about, my orange skin derives from the beta-carotene contained in carrots and is not the parallel to cellulite.

Rumours say a carrot murderer is wandering around the streets of Brasschaat lately, showing no mercy to their victims. Disgustingly he/she keeps their remains in the freezer until he knows what do with them.

Have you ever seen a mountain of dead carrot pulp as high as the Mount Everest? If not, I’ll happily invite you to come to my home and take a look in my fridge. You wouldn’t believe your eyes!

“What the juicer leaves behind, one must not trash.” no wise woman has ever said.

A pity to waste that. The thought of buying a rabbit to get rid of it let’s my pet-friendly heart beat faster. However, I don’t want to be responsible for the rabbit’s heart beating faster when he spots our monstrous, blind dog Gin.

As rabbits and dogs don’t go well together, I figure out some other ways on how to deal with the carrot issue. I am surfing on my new brainwave for hours, before I decide to put my new idea into practice. Nut nut (my nickname, cheers to Jules) and Mei Mei’s (mother-in-law) pop-up bakery has opened its doors and you can sense the smell of cinnamon and freshly baked carrot cake all over. In the end we serve the whole family with our cakes-made-from-scrap and are delighted we partly got rid of the excess pulp.

Feeding the pulp to the goat’s however, was the greatest success. I think I’ve never seen such contented goats. In addition, we tried carrot soup, dog food pimped with pulp, carrot mash, as well as carrot pasta and carrot-infused corn cakes, all of which were eatable, but as the Swedish would say “lagom”.

Last thing I tried was bread. I guess I should never ever put my hands on baking carrot bread again (3 attempts). It didn’t rise as it was supposed to, tasted horrible and was still doughy in the middle. Bummer! If I’d carried on like this, I surely would have been casted to be the main actor in the new series “Baking Bad” or “Breaking Bread”.

However, one hit with my “frisbee loaf” on the carrot murderer’s forehead and he would be dead in an instant.

The bad

Cameltherapy patients suffer from a myriad of side effects but the worst thing is that you’re actually not allowed to be in contact with toddlers the first 24 hours of your last session. As the cytostatica in your blood will be extracted through your human excretion, children could take up a small amount of chemotherapy through kisses or hugs.  Not advised, therefore, no affection allowed. Right after chemo thus, I withdraw myself from the outside world and resort into solitary confinement. Bohooooo!

Eyes wide open – 4:12 am – can’t sleep. Usually, I am blessed with a baby’s night rest but tonight it’s exactly the opposite. My body feels alienated in its own skin. I feel something’s happening inside but find no words to describe it precisely.

First day after my poison session, I wake up “cream-crackered” and short of breath. “Yo yo yo Yoga!”, I think, pull my matt, and start wit a few sun salutations. After all, it’s supposed to lengthen your breath. After a while, I feel some aching in my heart and lungs. It feels as if a small crab pinches my organs from the inside. Ouch!

I remember the water trick and imagine water washing out all the pain and sickness and continue my practise. If that won’t help I’ll smother it with an avalanche of carrot pulp!!!

The ugly

I wake up drowsy, walk down the stairs and try to make myself some green tea. Can’t remember what exactly happened but I find myself back in bed, the tea at my nightstand (I didn’t faint though). For the next 2 days, I remain in my dark chamber, mostly sleeping or in a half-walking state. My hammering head leaves no room for one clear thought, so I am not fighting having the IQ of a vegetable for the time being. At least I am already used to being a carrot! Mhhhh, vegetables I think! Brain farts  a la Homer Simpson guaranteed! My mum makes me broccoli but the iron taste makes me feel really sick. Irony of fate!

Every time I try to stand, I crease myself in pain. Although, I am not a fan of painkillers, I decide to trip out on 3 pills per day, as I can’t bear the pain any longer (don’t medicate yourself before consulting your physician before!).

2 days later, I creep out of my room like a vampire, being blinded by the sunlight so much that I have to shield my eyes from the sun rays with my hand. The hammer disappeared! I watch twilight and eat garlic krupuk that night.