Chronic Illness, as told by the spoons

G'wan and read The Spoon Theory.

I don't have lupus, but this rang true for me in many ways. Great analogy...I'm going to have to tell someone to be thankful I'm spending a spoon on them next time they get all up in mah grill.

Everyone else was doing it.

I've taken around 5 or 10 Myers Briggs online tests (and despite having a doctor of psychology for a mother, I've never been given an actual, real life test). Anyway, I always end up ISFJ.

And it always irks the crapola out of me that the first job is "Accountant." NOOOOOOOOOO, is this REALLY what I'm meant to do? "Librarian" sounds pretty cool though. Libraries smell so damn good. Books = friends.

Thanks for the diversion, Kerri and Julia.

Weird diabetic food concoction #682

Ingredients:

• 1 unsweetened tea from Subway drink machine
• 2 packets Splenda

Rip packets of Splenda open. Pour into paper cup. Place plastic top on cup. Place straw in hole. Swirl.

Taste? Meh.

But c'mon, if a Virginia girl can't have her sweet tea in the summer . . . is life even worth living anymore?

I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungrrrrreeeee

eeeeeeeeee!

I am subsisting on one damn piece of ricotta cheese pie (YES leftovers from the party WHEN will they all be digested, NO ONE knows). The ricotta cheese pie that earlier graced me with the 272.

Since then:

242 (11:30am)
210 (1:06pm)

So, pump appears to be working. Feeeebly working. But no lunch for me. Nope! Refuse! I should probably stop being squirrely and just break out the syringe but ah...nope, refuse again. My boss thinks I took a lunch break; in reality I took a blog break, and a cup-o-water break. And my stomach is grumbling.

Hey, did I remember to mention The Smashing Pumpkins? Like, I totally saw them at the 9:30 club on 7/10/07 and they like totally rocked. I shook Billy Corgan's hand, and as I was shaking it I realized I had offered him my BAND-AID HAND. The day before, I had given myself a lovely paper cut with the side of a plastic binder (mmmmm..so really, a plasti-cut). It gapped open deep enough that I swore I could see the Mines of Moria, so I band-aided the sucker. Unfortunately, the humidity in the city (whoa rhyme) caused the band-aid to get a little flaky before the band arrived. So, Billy Corgan shook my grody peeling-offy band-aid hand. Sorry, Crog, it's only a paper cut I swear.

This was seconds after I contaminated him:


Yes, I am somewhere in that photo...and no, I am not the bald guy. If I was the bald guy, I would say eff this crap and just buy a new pancreas for myself on a periodic basis.

And I would also cry a lot and beg James Iha to come baaaack, pleeease come baaaack to meeee....because damn it musta been fun to look at that guy all day long.

By la way, someone requested wedding pics. Here's a link to a few. Don't make fun of my armpit fat, I slouch and I know it.

What in the f*#@ing f!%k?

272?!

Buzzy head - check.
Yawning approx. every 2 seconds? - check.
Site change last night before I went to bed, coupled with a 184 fasting? - check.
FORGOT TO PACK PUMP SUPPLIES IN MY PURSE TODAY? - check.

If this doesn't turn around by 1pm or so, looks like I'll be riding the syringe train...

twennysomethin pt two

So what was I rambling about earlier? I guess the main point of this post is: when am I finally going to figure out what in the hell I'm doing? I feel like my life, while comfortable, is puncutated by moments of sheer panic or overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. Those pangs of "WHAT IS GOING ON, SERIOUSLY GUYS" that hit around 11:43pm. When am I going to be an adult? When I am going to be able to swagger around like that dude in my office with the expensive watch?

Here are the marbles marbling around in my cranium these days:

• Homeownering. Seriously DC and NoVa, what is up with the price of real estate. Since when was ANYTHING made in 1952 worth $674,500? Puuhhhleez. Unless maybe the price is high because the house is now considered an antique? Ahhh, I get it. And this is the "buyer's market" they say! I know urban sprawl is horrible, but is it really too much to ask to have my own plot of grass? I just want my kid to grow up with some green. That doesn't mean I want my morning commute to be 2 hours, either.
  
  
• Speaking of the kid. YES, we absolutely want children. YES, we are looking forward to being parents. YES, I know that it won't be all roses. YES, I realize that I have not a damn clue about how hard and stressful being a parent is going to be . . . er, wait, do I really want to do this? (Let's not even get into the whole 'the human race is horrible' 'the world is going down the drain, why would you bring a child into it' lamentations!) The thought of being childless is even more daunting than the thought of having a child, but what if I'm one of those boring saps who's going to end up having my identity completely swallowed by the creature that erupts from my uterus?
  
  
• . . . and on the subject of self-identity. Dude, what in the hell am I doing. How do I define myself? If it's by one's career, I'm on the slippery slope to effing that one up. In no way do I want to associate the majority of my being with the company I currently work for, or the position I'm currently in. I'd be much happier if, when asked what I do, I could say "I'm a dog walker." Or maybe . . . "That person in the park with the stabby thing picking up paper bits." I think that says a lot, don't you? Why am I HERE when I know I want to be anywhere else? Problem is, I really don't know where anywhere else is either. When I was little I wanted to be a vet. When I was 17 I realized that would involve more than 4 years of school and broken cat jawbones and I begged off. When I was 18 I wanted to be a novelist, and then realized that most likely I'd end up a bitter, starving artist. That and there's roughly 20 or 30 million people who are more talented than I am, and my ego quakes at the thought of not being awesome.
  
  When someone asks me what my 5 or 10 year career goals are (yes, senior manager, I'm looking at you), I can feel the blank stare expression settling over my features. I can firmly see my children, and maybe a cat or something, but as for the rest of me? Not an iota of a clue. I'll probably gain y'know, 50 pounds or so, but beyond my fattening ass it's all smoke and mirrors!
  

Manageability

So my new boss just rushed out of the office with a stricken look on her face. Her 20-something stepdaughter has some sort of nebulous autoimmune disease that causes her to have seizures on a semi-regular basis, and today she woke up slurring her speech...they think she made have had a stroke.

I don't know much about autoimmune diseases outside of my own, but my impression is that her stepdaughter's disease is its own animal and the symptoms are hard to prevent or treat. It's lupus-like, but it's not lupus...and it came out of nowhere a few years ago. That coming out of nowhere part sounds familiar, but the not knowing what you're dealing with part FREAKS ME OUT and makes me have that weird sensation of being...glad? relieved?...that I have diabetes. At least diabetes is (relatively) straightforward enough that I can help myself. At least it's common enough that doctors have some idea of how to help me. I can live, and live well, with this disease 99.9% of the time. Yeah, that other .1% is horrid, but on the whole I would describe diabetes as manageable. I know I forget to be thankful for that! The thought of staring into the yawning black hole of the unknown and being helpless is terrifying...

Long time no blog

I wonder how many times that's come up as a blog entry title in the history of blogger.com. Oh well, I never pretended to be original anyways. Far too exhausting to be unique when it's 110F outside (and NO, I don't live in Phoenix! What gives?!)

So what's been up with me, non-diabetically...and how it affected me diabetically:

• Marriage celebration! Miraculously I survived a barrage of Australians, my in-laws, and my mother's collection of roughly 20 varieties of homemade cookies, at least three cheesecakes, three ricotta pies, candies, and a wedding cake (and that's the very brief overview of what she made for the reception). All of the leftovers are sitting in my fridge now, but I didn't actually eat all that much on the day...at any rate, my blood sugars stayed steady and unremarkable from the beginning of July to the very end, although I had a slight paranoid moment before the ceremony where I thought I was low. I wasn't! Hurrah :) Now I just have to figure out how to finish the cake in my fridge without going into a coma.
  

• Canada! Two nights in Montreal (poutine = not as bad as you think), one night in Toronto (very. tall. buildings.), and one night in Niagara at a B&B (Canadian Vegas indeed). My blood sugars were great in Canada, except for the worst low experience of my life on the 2nd night in Montreal. There just aren't that many carbs in a squash soup, Kendra. One overbolus led to a 40-something that persisted for over an hour and a half. I felt like I was going to pass out, or seize, or something very bad...but I didn't. Needless to say I hope I never feel that awful again. I woke up at 3:30am with a 415. Thank you liver, but you're a little late.
  

• New job! Well, new position, same company. I have - no idea - what I'm doing (yet) but at least I get to do it from 9:00am to 5:00pm, at the same address every day. That may sound boring to you, but I'm thrilled. And hopefully I can get up to speed soon enough. Anyone know what OID, REMICs, and negative amortization are? A duurrrrr... :D Diabetes-wise, this should be a piece of cake compared to the old job...except apparently every Friday is "bagel day." Uh oh.