Nahm’sayin?

I’m Addicted to Orange Juice, and it’s a Problem

Graphic: Jennifer Aedy

There’s something I haven’t been telling you guys.

There’s something you should know about me. A secret, I guess.

But not anymore, this needs to come to light. I am addicted. I am addicted to orange juice. So what? Orange juice is healthy, you say? Well that’s where you’re objectively wrong. A glass of orange juice actually has about the same amount of sugar as a can of Coca-Cola. The British Medical Journal has also found that fruit juices increase the risk of type 2 diabetes.

But am I ready to stop? After all those long nights out, orange juice was always there for me in the morning. Ready to be my breakfast when I’d only had five hours of sleep and was too tired to make myself food, always there to nurse my hangover. Drink water? Water doesn’t have calories. Water doesn’t have colour. Water doesn’t have LIFE.

Pulp or no pulp? It doesn’t matter. I’d drink anything orange. Just let me get my fix. If they sold whole cartons of nothing but orange pulp, I’d fuck with that too.

I’m trying to let you go, but I can’t stop dreaming about you, OJ. You’ve found your way into the deepest levels of my subconscious. The other night I dreamt that I downed an entire carton of orange juice in several big gulps. That’s bliss, right there.

There you were again, beckoning me back. As if to say, “hey man, I’m here for you, I got your back. We can do this.” But maybe we shouldn’t anymore, because I can’t keep drinking half a gallon of orange juice every day. It’s just not sustainable. Do you want me to get diabetes? I don’t want me to get diabetes. Please respond.