Another day, another number.

Ok, so this makes no sense.

Yesterday night, I took the stupid test, and the number was 125. The ONLY thing that I had to eat was the tilapia fillets. 100% protein, no carbs. Just water to drink. So why the flying fardleschnocker was the number 135 this morning? I'm NOT HAPPY® about this!

I need to buy a kitchen timer for at work. Perhaps today at lunch when I go get another "mega-salad". I want to walk for 15 minutes 3x per week. This is not a lot, and I'm fair certain I could manage it. Even if it's more like hobbling for the first while until I get stronger. So why the kitchen timer? Simple! I set the timer for 7.5 minutes. Walk as far away as I can during that time, then walk back when the timer goes off. Voila! 15 minute walk. If I can convince myself to do this at lunchtime at work, it keeps my evenings free for cleaning, gaming and couch-potatoing.

Headaches, and insomnia, though. I think the headaches may be related to the lower blood-sugar. They FEEL like the ones I get when I forget to eat (or get caught in the middle of something and CAN"T eat.)

Called Dad last nite and told him about both the Diabetes and the tilapia. Spent a good hour trading recipies and test numbers. *grin* I think the trip will be in October. He's already making plans for what all we will do and eat when I get there. Amazingly, the man finds it in him to tell me he loves me now. Still chokes me up every time that he says it. I work to remember to tell him that I love him right before I hang up every time. If for some reason it's the last words he ever hears from me - so help me, they will be that I love him.

I talked to him a tiny bit about how angry I was at St. Paul the Lutheran Minister for telling me to stop stroking Mom's arm near the end. Dad wasn't happy that Paul had said that to me (he didn't hear it at the time). I wish so much that I hadn't listened to that pompous little git. It's hard to reconcile all the mistakes I made with my memories and feelings about Mom. The more that I think about all this, the angrier and more hateful I feel toward that self-righteous prick.

I don't have a brother. There is just some interfering busybody self-righteous religious prick with no brains who insists on kibbitzing between me and my FAMILY.

I wish he would die in a fire.

Improvement

So... The cheesecake is gone (Capt. Jack Sparrow: "But...Why is the Cheesecake gone?!!") and this morning after having a salad thing for lunch and a salami sandwich for dinner - 128.

That's 20 numbers lower than the first time I took it on Sunday. So I guess that is improvement. I don't want to eat Salad all the time however. It's ok once in a while, but Wabbit food is for Wabbits, Doc.

So I'm only 18 to 28 numbers from "normal".

The salami sandwich on oat-bran bread was tasty. I can do that. Will probably be ALL wrong for the cardio issues, but.. *shrug* I can only do so much at one time.

Tonite I shall have Tilapia fish. Dad showed me how to cook it. I hope it turns out even 1/2 as good as his was. Perhaps with cauliflower. (And white wine to keep with the "all white food" theme? Probably water, tho.)

I think I have some sugar-free Jello mix. Maybe that would be a tasty treat...

CLUNK - OWIE.... *sigh*

Ok, still in the process of moving into "acceptance". Without question I have bypassed the "bargaining with God" phase. That asshole NEVER keeps up his side of things.

But the rebellion is fading. In small steps, true, but fading. The chocolate cheesecake is gone, so that's no longer an issue. At lunch today - or maybe on the way home from work, I will get healthier food from the market.

I need to find the ADA diet - my nurse friend says it is a good thing and not "impossible" to follow. (Of course, medical professionals have been telling me for EONS that a 1500 calorie/day diet is not "impossible" to follow, so we shall take that with a tablespoon of ... umm.... CRAP - can't take it with salt (heart), can't take it with sugar (diabetes).... ok - we shall take it with a FUCKING PINT of sarcastic cynicism!!!) If naught else, it should give me some ideas of what is ok and what is not ok.

Insert the pointy thingy - twist off the protective cap - puncture thumb with pointy thingy. Squeeze out red thumb juice. Push button for testing tab. stick testing tab into red thumb juice. Wait for test thingy to give you number. Write down number. Throw away testing tab and pointy thingy. Meh.

So like... I need to call the Dadster and tell him about this. I'm not overwhelmingly looking forward to that. Then I need to figure out how soon I can haul arse down to Florida, stopping in Tennessee and (as demanded by Anonymous G/Friend from GRADE school... *grin*) in Georgia. At least doing it that way, I break up the 1200 mile one-way trip into more manageable chunks. I just wish someone would move Kentucky out of the way. It's bad ENOUGH that I have to drive through freaking INDIANA (the state that spawned Dan Quayle & the Moron Roscoe, and where they worship orange traffic cones).

Maybe October.

Rebellion

I am angry. I am angry and I don't give a shit. Ok, I'll take your fucking pills, and I'll prick my goddamn fingers and smear blood on little tabs of paper - but goddamn it, I'm gonna eat Godiva Double Chocolate Cheesecake too.

Fuck this disease. Fuck this life. Fuck this bullshit. I am who I am - and I don't need some neophyte Dr. trying to tell me what, how or when to eat. Fuck this shit.

Fuck the notion of eating only bland, disgusting fish or oatmeal.

Fuck it.

Fuck life.

Doctors

So tonite I go to the Dr. I thought it was yesterday, but I was WRONG!! *shrug*

Anyhow - in the midst of all that is going on, one of my cats seems to have fallen ill. She's always been such a fussbudget about keeping herself groomed, but there is a spot on her back - directly above her rear feet - that is matted and sticky and looks as if someone had gotten a lollypop stuck in it then pulled it off.

(No, the catly ones do NOT go out of the house - so no little rug-rats to threaten with lollies)

So I will most likely need to take Kili to the vet. This will be strange, taking only the ONE cat in. Mindi and Kili have been together since... well, heck since BEFORE birth - they were litter-mates. I'm not sure what Mindi will do if something bad happens to Kili. Probably become even MORE of a clingy, snuggly, annoying little putz than she already is. (Love her to death, but when it's 98 degrees outside, I don't really want to have a hot furry cat in my lap!)

When Dad called the other night, he told me he wants me to help him pick out wallpaper for the kitchen when I go down there. *grin* That sounds like fun. I need to get the car AC fixed first, however. ANFW I am gonna drive to Florida without AC. Did it once, but I was much younger and stupider then.

Ok - off to make my "bitch list" for the Dr. tonite. I want to have all my quackers in a row so I can be assertive and firm with him.

I hate Drs.

Gah, I hate being Wrong

But I admit - I was. I thought I had a Dr. appt. this evening. Turns out it is tomorrow. So another day of worry and self-castigating for my sins of ommission, commission, gluttony, sloth, pride and indulgence.

Sucketh to be me, I suppose.

On the brighter side - someone I've owed some money for a couple of years just told me that he's considering the debt paid - although I figured on 3 more payments! This means I can either get the AC fixed, get my car fixed, pay off another debt - or some combination of the above.

I'm ok with that.

GOP Motto: The Buck Stops Over There -->

BLATANTLY stolen from a Yahoo Message Board Posting


It's the liberals. It's the ACLU. It's Clinton. It's Monica. It's the "climate of permissiveness". It's France. It's the liberal media. It's Clinton's p*nis. It's Hillary. It's Gov. Dean. We never could have known they'd fly planes into buildings. "No actionable intelligence". They didn't tell us to do anything. O'Neill's lying. Clarke's lying. General Shinseki's lying. The Union of Concerned Scientists is lying. Our own weapons inspector David Kay's lying. Wilson's lying. John Dean's lying. Newsweek lied! CBS lied! Everyone's lying but us. We had to lie. We never lied.

Plame outed herself. Her husband outed her. The liberals outed her. No one outed her, since everyone already knew her covert identity. Rove had nothing to do with it. No comment. Lib'ral, lib'ral, lib'ral.

It's the libs trying to pull Schiavo's feeding tube. It doesn't matter that DeLay pulled his own dad's feeding tube. "Culture of life". It's Janet Jackson's boobs; it's the Statue of Justice's boobs. Reading the news might cloud my judgement. It's the "decade our government...blinded itself to our enemies". It's the homosexuals wanting to marry. "Restore honor and dignity to the White House". A decision to go to war wasn't a decision to go to war. "No actionable intelligence". It's the pledge of allegiance. They're taking God out of America. Osama didn't tell us when, how, where, and by what means he'd attack, and he didn't leave a forwarding address. The 9/11 panel is biased against us. Saddam = Al Qaida. Saddam = Al Qaida.

Chalabi's an honorable man and I believe everything he says about WMDs. Chalabi's a crook and he passed secrets to Iran. Chalabi's the liberals' fault because they didn't shoot us when we started using his "intelligence". Chalabi? I don't know any 'Chalabi'!

It's just a few dead-enders. They'll be gone when we capture Saddam. They'll be gone when we capture Saddam's sons. They'll be gone when we hand over "sovereignty". They'll be gone when Iraq has elections. They'll be gone in 12 years. They'll never be gone.

We fight them in London so we don't have to fight them, er, uh, well, can't get fooled again!

Bolton didn't lie! He just knowingly gave incorrect answers under oath.

Aw, so what's another ISLAMIC STATE in the mideast? It's not like Bush has made it a home for terrorists or anything!

No one could have anticipated that a category 5 hurricane aimed directly at New Orleans would have destroyed it! No one could have anticipated that they might need federal assistance quickly! Of course no one's in charge of accepting the generous aid offered by other nations -- isn't that the mayor's responsibility? Being a judging supervisor for the Arabian Horse Association is ample experience to head FEMA! It's the mayor's fault! It's the governor's fault! It's Howard Dean's fault! It's CBS's fault! It's the Monica Crime! Ted Kennedy killed Mary Jo! Libtards killed Terry Schiavo! Wah! Wahhhhhhh!

It's all these former staffers hawking their books. Money never corrupted anyone. "I'm a uniter, not a divider!" It's the stem cells. It's the feminazis, the intellectual elitists, and the ecoterrorists.

It's Cthulhu. It's the martians.

It's anyone but Bush.

Fear and Loathing in Chicago Suburbia

So I get more test results. The results from that retarded test of "Glucose Tolerance" are in, and apparently I'm doomed. I failed the test and some other stupid test they did that measures blood-sugar level over 3 months, even though they only took blood the one day - which sounds suspicious to me.

Fact of the matter is, I'd rather be dead than have diabetes. I'd rather be dead than have to eat nothing but PLAIN oatmeal (can you say "wallpaper paste"?) for the rest of my life and keep sticking myself with pins to check and see if I can eat or if I have to starve more.

I'd rather be dead than trying to stick to a 1500 cal./day diet again, only to fail and feel like an utter failure at life in general. I'd rather be dead than to have them cut off my feet because I got a little cut and didn't realize it and now my feet are destroyed.

I'd rather be dead than to have diabetes.

I'm tired. Sick and fucking tired, of being sick. Of being tired. Of being fucking exhausted. Of being lectured by doctors about how I need to lose weight and exercise - with no suggestions of how to do either one, considering that every fucking diet I go on leaves me weak and starving, concentrating ONLY on food and the clock and when I can get a little tiny bit more to ease the gnawing, growling, aching, pain, starving, misery that is life for a few minutes. Of trying to work out, only to have my back, or my knees, or my heart-rate tell me in no uncertain terms to "SIT DOWN YOU DAMNFOOL IDIOT".

Do these fucking doctors think that I ENJOY being fat and ugly and having heart palpatations and being unable to even go to the mall without pain?

I hate this. I hate this. I hate this so fucking much. I have to go in again on Wednesday - to get my mandatory lecture from the new Dr. about how if I would just lose weight, yadda, yadda, yadda, bleh.

And the worst of it is that I know FOR A FUCKING FACT that my hormones have something vital to do with all this. Maybe not the diabetes, but then, maybe so! I know it. I know what happens with my feet swelling up and unswelling. I know about what happens with my cyclical energy "highs" that are followed up by extreme lows. I KNOW THIS - but not one single fucking doctor will listen to me.

Ok, that's not true. The GYN listened to me. He knew it was hormones. He knew it before he even took blood tests to confirm it. I told him all the symptoms, and he said "It is obvious you have a progesterone deficiency". And he put me on HRT. And for the first time in YEARS, I felt human again. I had energy. I wasn't depressed. My legs weren't swollen. I could THINK and CONCENTRATE... and then I got the fucking blood clots in my leg and lung and they took me off the HRT and now I'm back where I was except even worse.

This DR will get one chance. One opportunity to listen and take me seriously. If he doesn't - then I'll go hunting again. Somewhere there has got to be someone who can balance this all back out again. I can't live like this. I'd rather be dead.

A tribute to John Ashcroft from the Interwebs

In the news today, there was a story about a bunch of Conservatives who had been "Outraged" and "Disgusted" by a picture on the front of a parenting magazine of an obviously happy baby apparently suckling at it's mother's breast.

Now - I don't know if this is true or not. But if so, I am 200% in agreement with the sentiments expressed herein:


On January 28, 2002, Attorney General John Ashcroft, announced that he spent $8000 of taxpayer's money for drapes to cover up the exposed breast of The Spirit of Justice, an 18ft aluminum statue of a woman that stands in the Hall of Justice.

John, John, John,
you've got your priorities all wrong.
While men fly airplanes into skyscrapers,
dive bomb the pentagon,
while they stick explosives into their shoes,
and then book a seat right next to us,
while they hide knives in their luggage,
steal kids on school buses,
take little girls from their beds at night
drive trucks into our state capital buildings,
while our president calls dangerous men all over the world
evildoers and devils,
while we live in the threat of biological warfare
nuclear destruction,
annihilation,
you are out buying yardage
to save Americans
from the appalling
alarming, abominable
aluminum alloy of evil,
that terrible ten foot tin tittie.
You might not be able to find Bin Laden
But you sure as hell found the hooter in the hall of justice.

It's not that we aren't grateful
But while we were begging the women of Afghanistan
to not cover up their faces,
you are begging your staff members to
just cover up that nipple,
to save the American people
from that monstrous metal mammary.
How can we ever thank you?

So, in your office every morning,
in your secret prayer meeting,
while an American woman is sexually assaulted every 6 seconds,
while anthrax floats around the post office,
and settles in the chest of senior citizens,
you've got another chest on your mind.
While American sons arrive home in body bags
and heat seeking missiles,
fly around a foreign country,
looking for any warm body,
you think of another body.
And you pray for the biggest bra in the world John,
because you see that breast on the spirit of justice
in the spirit of your
own inhibited sexuality.
And when we women see
our grandmothers, our mothers, our daughters, our granddaughters,
our sisters, ourselves,
when we women see that
statue the spirit of justice
we see the spirit of strength
the spirit of survival.
While every day
we view innocent bodies dragged out of rubble
and women and children laid out
like thin limp dolls
and baptized into death as collateral damage,
and the hollow eyed Afghani mother's milk has dried
up underneath her burka,
in famine, in shame,
and her children are dead at her breast.

While you look at that breast John,
that jug on the spirit of justice,
and deal with your thoughts of lust,
and sex, and nakedness,
we see it as a testimony motherhood,
And you see it as a tit.

It's not the money it cost.
It's the message you send.
We've got the right to live in freedom.
We got the right to cheat Americans out
of millions of dollars and then
just not want to tell congress about it.
We've got the right
to drop bombs night and day
on a small country that has no army,
no navy, no military at all,
because we've got the right to bear arms
but we just better not even think
about not the right to bare breasts.
So now John, you can be photographed
while you stand there and talk about
guns,and bombs, and poisons,
without the breast appearing over your right shoulder,
without that bodacious bosom bothering you,
and we just wanted to tell you,
in the spirit of justice,
in the spirit of truth,
You have shown us which is the bigger boob!

Heat and Tests

Today is supposed to be horrid again. And tonite - and tomorrow. Tomorrow nite is supposed to be a break.

I know heat. I've lived with it for most of my life. We never had AC as a child until I was well into my 20's - and then only when things became DIRE. I know I can live with just fans, and have done. Honestly, there've only been a few nights of laying drenched in my own sweat and unable to find a cool or dry spot on the bed...

But walking into the sweet, sweet coolness of the office this morning was like entering Heaven. I will curse the cold in a few months - but right now the chill feels lovely.

Saturday I went for the stupid Glucose Tolerance test. For the uninitiated, this is where you are expected to eat nothing for 12 hours or so, then bitten by a vampire who tests your blood and bottles up the rest, then forced to drink a ghastly orangey-flavored syrup (10 ounces!!!) - and then sit bored for 2 hours until the vampire bites you again, taking 2 vials of the precious red stuff.

Whoever thinks up these "tests" has a Machiavellian sense of humor, methinks.

"Ok, Phil - what can we do to make their lives UTTERLY miserable for a few hours?"

Supposed to make a Dr.'s appointment. Meh.