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I : Meme.

I am: tired, happy and filled with Easter Eggs.
I want: a new job. Tomorrow. Please.
I wish: that I knew, with certainty, that everything will be okay.
I hate: medical insurance. Or better: I hate having to worry about medical insurance.
I miss: my grandparents. And I worry about the Only One I Have Left.

I fear: that all this hoping for a cure will be in vain.

I hear: Siah Sausage walking around on the desk next to me.
I wonder: if I will be a good mom..
I regret: any time that I told my parents I hated them. It was never true.
I am not: without fear.
I dance: like I don’t care whose watching.
I sing: the wrong words to most songs.
I cry: when I am afraid.

I am not always: patient enough. I need to work on that.
I make with my hands: blankets, dinner, his back muscles relax, the cats purr, shadow puppets, fists, and sometimes I make obscene gestures.

I write: so I won’t forget.

I confuse: myself. Often.
I need: nothing more than I need him.
I should: stop being so hard on myself and just enjoy all the mess.
I start: thinking about how much they all mean to me and I can’t believe how lucky I am.
I finish: what I start. Even if it takes my whole life.

I tag: the lurkers. Hop to it. (End of my Easter humor.)

Six Short Points on a Pseudo-Friday

1. I have been in so many listless work meetings today that my head is filled with phrases like “forward thinking,” “marketing analysis,” and “extensive research and application.” These phrases have replaced the fun ones I was thinking earlier, which included “Paas coloring kit,” “lethal Cadbury mini eggs,” and “Thank the lord for fast acting insulin.”

2. “Generation D” has been updated for April.

3. The weather outside is sunny and warmish and if my office had windows (and if I had an office) I would be pressing my face against the glass. Instead, I grabbed my markers and drew a big, yellow, smiling sunshine on an insurance report before I submitted it. The chuckle and the wry look it received were warranted.

4. My mother is auditioning for “Deal or No Deal!” and the video submission that Chris filmed for her is currently in post production. My mother, her three sisters, and I are the No Deal Team. I’m coming to realize that we may be a slightly peculiar family.

5. I am so looking forward to this long weekend that I keep bursting into a grin for no apparent reason, causing the Brits who sit near me at work to eye me suspiciously.

6. And everytime my fingers hit the keys, my Larry Bird bobbles his head in agreement.

What Came in the Mail.

I hadn’t checked the mail in a few days, so I wasn’t surprised when I came home to a pile of envelopes on the kitchen table.

“Thanks for checking the PO Box, Chris.”

“No problem. Hey, there was a big package that came in, too.”

Big brown shipping box. Marked “Fragile.”

I took a pair of scissors and sliced through the packing tape. Eight thousand pink Styrofoam peanuts flew out everywhere, much to the delight of Ms. Siah Sausage. I flung out all the packing peanuts and then I Saw Him.

That blonde hair. Those ridiculous socks. Half a smirk graced his plastic face as if he knew the three-point shot was nothing but net as long as he had control of the ball. 

My man, Larry Bird.

This is precisely why Mr. Scott K. Johnson is one of the coolest people on the planet. So I extend my biggest THANK YOU to Scott for the vintage Larry Bird bobble head. It’s tremendously cool and my cardio workout thanks you. Here’s to your vast collection of test strips in your night table drawer.

Siah found him to be rather delicious, too.


Health Care Reform: Use the BatPhone.

Standing at my desk and chatting up a coworker, coffee in hand, I noticed the tiniest twinge of a headache. Not overly concerned, I sat down and pulled out my meter. “Just to rule it out,” I thought, loading up the meter with a strip and clink … ringing in at an icy 39 mg/dl.

“You have to be kidding me…” muttering under my breath, grabbing a bottle of juice from the stash in my desk drawer. There were only six sips available in the bottle so I grabbed a pack of peanut butter crackers and ate two of them.

Nothing but a headache. No foggy feeling in my brain. People’s voices weren’t echoing. I could see and hear and feel everything just fine. Even the headache wasn’t bad – nothing I thought a cup of coffee couldn’t cure.

Instead: 39 mg/dl.

As I sat at my desk and waited for my bloodsugar to rise, I thought about the television show I’d watched for a few minutes the night before. It was on MSNBC or similar, discussing the health care reform being rocketed through legislative bodies and the plan was quoted as being something that will afford consumers more “control over price and quality”. Consumer driven health care. Making people more aware of how expensive health care is. As though we need to be told.

Price and quality?

“An atrocity.” I said to Chris, becoming livid. “If this legislation passes, it won’t be price and quality, but price or quality. You either chose the best care available and pay an obscene amount for it or you chose what you can afford.” I was completely pissed off at this point. “For someone like me, it could mean going back to injections, even though the pump keeps me the healthiest. Or not testing as much during the day, sacrificing my hard earned A1c for my checkbook balance.”

“I knew that one day I would be worrying about paying for medical coverage, but I thought it would be when I was sixtysomething and on the cusp of retirement. Instead, I’m 27 years old and panicking about whether or not my health will be compromised as a result of government decisions in the next six months. Absolutely ridiculous. Don’t they understand that keeping me healthy now keeps money in the insurance companies’ pockets later? Preventative measures now to ward off paying for treating a complication later? They think pump therapy is expensive – wait until they’re paying for my leg to be amputated.” 

Crying now, so angry.

Fast forward to this morning, sitting at my work desk, drinking a bottle of juice as my bloodsugar teeters precariously at 39 mg/dl, wondering why people from the United States Senate offices are just reading my blog instead of contacting me directly.

Things I’ve Done to Torture Myself at Work : April 3rd Edition

Checked the weather in LA. It’s 70 degrees and sunny, just so you know.

Overheard a conversation between two managers, which included the following phrases: “flow chart conversions,” “leaning out processes,” and “restructures.” Uh oh.

Saw a small pile of what appeared to be Bacon Bits on the countertop of the bathroom. (It turned out to be the shavings of someone’s eyebrow pencil.) Sudden urge for Bacon Bits now.

In recognition of Daylight Savings Time, changed the finger prick lancet. Realized that I may be slightly gross.

Watched a manager take two coffee breaks within an hour, then proceed to chastise an employee for leaving their desk to go to the copier.

Caught a glimpse of the sunshine outside. Filled with jealous rage towards trees based on the fact that no one expects them to sit at a desk for nine hours.

Listened to the man who sits in front of me talk about the upcoming Yankees game. “Love them Yankees!” Realize that he doesn’t sit close enough to actually hit, so I just threw a pen at him and then blamed it on someone else.

Checked the weather in LA again. Still sunny.

(Redeeming moment: In Googling the word “Sunny” in search of a picture, I came across a book series called “Sunny.”

Description: Sunny wakes up on a bright, summer morning to the familiar sounds of his wonderful world. Inspired by what they hear, he and his friends decide to invent their own playful brand of music. Before long, the happy children get down to a hootennanny time.”

My mood has significantly improved just from reading the work “hootennanny.”)


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