Fuck you very much, Stoneyfield.
How much are we supposed to think about ourselves?
I’ve always thought that people who obsess about themselves are conceited, and that it wasn’t a good thing to be conceited.
But having diabetes turns that whole notion on its head.
There’s nothing I do (or don’t do) that doesn’t have implications for my health. I wish I could forget it just a few hours, but I can’t. Even the act of not thinking about living with diabetes for a few hours is thinking about diabetes!
This only matters because I have to change every. single. thing. about how I’ve lived life until now. Everything.
Fuck you, diabetes.
I’d like to consciously uncouple from my diabetes. But I can’t.
No, getting a gold star for being a good diabetic isn’t like being a gold star lesbian. I’m giving myself a gold star because I traversed some hairy areas without falling into old behaviors that would have led me to over eat. Or eat crappy food. 24 hours and counting!
Seems kind of lame to be celebrating something that I should have been doing all along, but the glucose meter read 151 this morning, which is as low as its been in weeks. Sad, I know.
I deserve a treat!
This time I’ll treat myself to NOT treating myself.
Glucose, how low can you go, you tricky bastard!
If we don’t legalize drones, how am I going to see underneath my gut?
How about you?
You need to lose weight.
No shit. Don’t tell me what I need to do, tell me how to do it.
Your A1C is 8.1. We need to get that down.
You’ve got a fatty liver.
We needed an ultrasound for you to figure that out?
Been thinking about only going to the doctor once a year with quarterly blood test results mailed to me. I know what needs to be done. I have to do it (or not). Why waste time and money if I don’t do the work that needs doing?
That gut belongs to Randy, who keeps it fed with cheeseburgers. He’s one of the Trailer Park Boys.