New Worries

So I am thinking that I am getting diabetes. This is not some idle worry or threat. My mother had diabetes, my father has it, both of my grandmothers had it. My grandfathers died before they could get it. They had bad tickers.

The seroquel is said to raise your blood glucose level. Read: sugar. So I've decided to again try to go off of sugar.

Seriously, this is a pain in my ass. And I'm addicted to it like a drug. Last night. Eeek! I don't even want to write it for fear of making it worse and more real.
Deep breath. Last night, after dinner, I checked my level. It was 241. That seems awfully damn high to me. Dad said not to worry, we'd check it this morning before breakfast. It was 115. I thought that was pretty damn high also. He said not to worry -- over 120 is bad.

So once I got to the office, I googled it. Fasting glucose (sugar) levels should be below 100. Over 100 but below 125 is probably pre-diabetes. And here's the thing (well one of the things, anyway), I've been having to pee a lot lately. So much so that I was thinking maybe I was broken down there or maybe I had a urinary tract infection. Nope, that's just a sign of diabetes. That and the thirst I have all of the time lately.
And slow healing. This one doesn't really count because I've always healed very slow (when comparing to others).

Anyway. I'm not usually one of those persons who trolls webMD and then thinks they have whatever they've read. But I do think this is real. And I seriously need to get my shittake in order. I mean really.

One of my professors said once, "You can warn someone the train is coming, but sometimes people don't believe you until they get run down." Is that me? Am I going to get mowed down and then - ? Who will I have to blame? Myself? I already do that all the time anyway.

Gotta start working out too. Let's see if we can slow this train down a bit. Or get the hell off the track. Seriously.

Ugh! Sugar! Sweet Goddess

Sickness.

Or headache.

Actually, I think it is sickness. I ate some sugar. After how long trying to kick it (again)? I’m like a fucking alcoholic, without the support group. I guess I could go to OA (for those of you with no addictions—the “A” is always for “Anonymous” and, in this case, the “O” is for “Overeaters.”) At OA, they do not allow you to have white flour, sugar, and something else… I can’t remember from my foray into getting a support group 10 some-odd years ago.

Fucking tasted good though. And it was nasty fucking chocolate. The kind of chocolate I wouldn’t deign to eat, if I were eating chocolate. But since I’m not, and haven’t been, I ate it and it was de-lish!

Moving on.

Confession.

BF bought me 2 (not so) lovely couches on the weekend. (Mental note: do not forget to give him $$.) Weren’t expensive—1 full-size and 1 loveseat (not matching) for 30 bucks. Not bad. Not bad. But they weren’t v attractive. Actually, they weren’t that bad. But the wrong colors and styles for what I would have in mind.
Why would he purchase couches for me, you might ask. Funny story. My new puppy has been having really good snacks of my $50 sectional and my $0 (yeah, that’s right-free!) comfy couch. So he purchased these new couches. . . and she started in on the ugly one. Ripped off the skirt—or at least what I’m calling the skirt, that bottom part that hides the legs. I looked at it, and was all *&%*!! and $*%&#$!! But then stopped. It looked soo much better. J Seriously, I like the couch now. I’ve ripped off the rest of the skirt—threw it away (no evidence) and now have to decide if I’m going to spill the beans to BF or not.

Hours tick by. Or do they?

Day One without My Beloved.

sugar

Ok. Here we go again kids. Trying to kick the juice, the junk, the dope, the lightening. The Sugar.

Hour Two.

Actually, I’ve been up a little more than two hours. . . but who’s counting. Oh, that’s right, I am.
I am depressed and weepy. I tell myself not to despair. Nothing ever comes from despairing—nothing, nothing ever gets done. And it’s true.
Did you see Scarlet O’Hara despair? No. She decided she was too busy trying to fix things, trying to save the beloved Tara, trying not to starve, trying to keep her family from starving. She just didn’t have time to despair.
And it helps. (Telling myself that.) Oh, and also I’ve been telling myself that it’s just coming off of the juice, the smack, the sugar that is making my emotions so . . . volatile. And it could be true. What it really feels like is going insane. And not so slowly. Kinda quick, so you notice it is happening. “Why am I behaving like this?” You ask yourself. “Why, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s the sugar. Perhaps you are insane.” You answer yourself rationally. Heh. Rationally. Answer yourself.

I watched a lovely movie last night. I Capture the Castle. Lovely young women: English and poor. Lovely young, rich American men (and one was Henry Thomas... makes me kinda glad he survived ET). OK SPOILER. So, the lovely young woman, our heroine.. winds up with.. well, not nothing.. . and not alone, she has taken care of her family. But not with the object of her affection. And the end of the movie (my hand to gawd) she says, “I love. I have loved. I will love.” Fade to Black. Fuck. What the hell. Ok, great. But that’s why I watch movies. I need a mother-fucking, even-if-it-makes-no-sense, twisted plot, don’t-care-how, HAPPY ENDING. Need it. Like I need to breathe. And so yeah, a little hope, but not really happiness. And I’ve discovered in my pitiable life that HOPE kills you every time. Every time. Obliterates you. Crushes your soul. Kills your spirit. Makes you waltz then sticks out its big, rude foot and purposely trips you. So you fall on your face, in the most dramatic, theatrical, humiliating, public way, ever.

What am I complaining for? Well. After that and I just wanted to cry, I got on my newly returned, fixed computer. (Moment of silence and reverence for the COMPUTER.) And I checked my horoscope. And it was all.. You have had to relive part of stuff you thought you already handled, but didn’t (and pushed deep into your subconscious, you pathetic idiot. And will now wake up out of a very real dream and cry inexplicably for an hour whilst you are overcome with sadness and deep, deep, hidden trauma) and now that you’ve re-dealt with those aspects, move on and push your boundaries. Made complete and total sense. [Now I know that these are vague. And allow for various interpretations, but seriously, folks, how do they do it??? And as I write this… this is what they’ve written:
“Circumstances in your life may be full of drama and you'll need to use all channels of communication to share your story with those around you. Although you can be putting on quite an impressive show, you may not realize that you are only telling part of the story. Your beliefs are coloring your perceptions more than usual and you can only see what you believe.”
So here I am thinking I am giving myself therapy, and hopefully entertaining people. But I’m not being totally honest, with myself or with you, dear reader. Fuckers calling me a liar. But I digress.]

Soooo, anyway…I felt really sad. And I did a little (expensive) tarot reading (but considering they gave me the credits for free, wasn’t really a bad deal). And what was this wondrous question I inquired about in my future? I couldn’t really decide. Would I find love.. that’s not right, I have love. I love my mother. I love my friends, etc. And what if I love someone who doesn’t love me back? Would I be loved? No, that’s not right, either. G loves me with all his heart. Just can’t work out. So, I settled on “Will I find happiness in love?” So lovely Tarot tells me to push my boundaries…let my passions come through (because this is obviously something you are uncomfortable with, you fucked-up, damaged prude). And then goes on.. and I’m all.. who is it talking about?
Yeah, well. Money well spent.

Oh, look it’s been about 3 hours. And no sugar. Good for me.

And yet, the discomfort lingers. But I’m not weeping at work either. So. There ya go.