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I started a Ketogenic diet a few days ago, and I have to say it’s going pretty well.

For starters, I’m hungry all the time. My wife and four children say I’ve become incredibly irritable. I can barely gather enough strength to lift my toothbrush to my mouth let alone walk up a flight of stairs without feeling like I need a nap. I have more headaches than usual. I have a hard time concentrating, although I was able to gather enough focus for planning my funeral… which I’m expecting will be sometime next week. Probably Tuesday.

And I think the sun stopped shining. I’m serious. Since I’ve been on this diet, I’m almost certain that the joy-filled brightness allotted to any particular day has been snuffed out. Or maybe the scientists have been wrong about the sun all along. Maybe it doesn’t burn hydrogen and helium, but rather carbs, and it has decided to go Keto, too.

Great. Give it all you’ve got, sun. I’m not sure you actually exist anymore, but just in case you do, know that I’m rooting for you.

Although, I suppose I could be mistaken. Maybe the sunshine seems distant because it’s being blocked out by the sizeable list of “no” foods to which I am now subscribed. The “yes” food list, the low carb list, I’ve learned is comprised primarily of savory construction material—wood, replacement windows, cement, beef jerky, door knobs, paint, coaxial cable, caulk, nails, pork rinds, and pretty much anything else you can purchase at your local hardware store. But the “no” list is far more grand. It contains all things either simple or extravagant that might stir one to smile at a life lived fully—doughnuts, pizza, joy, spaghetti, happiness, Frosted Flakes, waffles doused in maple syrup, enjoyment, and other such flavorful things.

Thankfully there’s a wide assortment of thirst-quenching fluids on the “yes” list. I can choose anything from among the seemingly endless spectrum of water and water. Apparently any water is good—tap water, pool water, downspout water, sewage water—as long as it doesn’t taste very good, you should be fine.

I don’t know for sure if whisky is on the “yes” list. I’m kind of afraid to check. I suppose if I had to guess, it’s probably on the “no” list. Why? Because it’s an enjoyable thing, and if you recall, joy is a no-no in this life-editing exercise.

But there you have it. Since bending all reason in submission to my current life-editing routine is a part of what I’m doing to torture myself right now, then I’m sure it’ll be fine to stretch my reasoning a little more to find a place for enjoying a dram of the Paul John “Edited” edition while I chew on a low carb, butter-dipped corner of vinyl siding.

And so, with high hopes for even a moment of rescue, the cork is popped and I’m giving it a try.

Refreshingly, the nose of this whisky is the first real sunbeam to pierce my dreadful gloom in days. Alongside a somewhat vegetal scent, a touch of forbidden chocolate and fleshy fruits—plums, perhaps—is carried along by a lazy and shapeless draft of peat.

The palate offers another few rays of liveliness—glimmering beams of warmed vanilla and overly ripened gala apples—both pleasant enough to penetrate the shell of anyone’s misery.

The finish is a medium stream of faintly strolling smoke and a more prominent barrel spice that spends its time nipping at the tongue with a lovely reminder that this is only the first sip and the bottle is still very full.

Another sip brings a satisfyingly consistent sameness. A little water, however, lessens the palatable joy, and that’s probably because water is on the “yes” list. The “yes” list things are meant to murder enjoyable things.

Overall, this is another edition from Paul John that, if you can find it, is worth your attention. It may stir disappointment from your dietitian, but I can pretty much guarantee that your therapist will offer a commending grin.

And so, like I said, I think the diet is on track for accomplishing its goals, and with that, I’m fairly confident that I can keep at it for another seventy-two hours or so before altogether forfeiting in order to choose happiness again. Although, if I do decide to press on, if I do decide that suffering is the preferable road to better health, even as I go to bed hungry, at least I’ll sleep peacefully. I’ll do so knowing that the Paul John “Edited” edition is within reach and I have five other people in my home who can pour it for me when I’ve grown too weak to lift the bottle.