“Hey, you. This is awkward. Voicemail. I hate voicemail. But I haven’t heard from you in a while … almost like 30 years now, actually. How the hell have you been? It’s been busy over here – a lot has happened since second grade. I finished elementary school. I learned how to tap dance but the whole baseball thing never really worked out. Graduated high school, graduated college … I got married! I have a kid – she’s almost six. I have another one on the way. There’s been a lot. A lot has happened.
I know you’re in there. Mostly because the other stuff you’re supposed to be doing, with all the enzymes and all that stuff, is still happening so I know you’re alive. Just not doing the insulin thing.
But that’s cool. I used to be angry about it, but I’m kind of over it. Maybe not over it, but I’m apathetic. Like I don’t care that you aren’t answering my calls these days – I don’t really want to talk-talk to you, but sometimes I would just like to say hi, punch you in your non-face face, and then move on.
But that’s not an option. All I can do it keep going. Keep checking blood sugars and taking insulin and doing the diabetes thing. Working. Growing this new kid as best I can and taking care of my daughter, too. Doing the life thing. Holding up my end of that bargain, at least.
I’m kind of glad you didn’t answer. I don’t even know if you’ll listen to this, and I don’t really care if you do. That apathy thing; It felt good to say hi. And that I don’t mind you being gone. I miss you – I’m fucking frustrated without you sometimes – but I don’t need you.
Okay, I feel better. Sorry for leaving this on your voicemail. See ya.”
“Hey again. Sorry – one last thing. I’m done saving all your fucking mail, by the way. Who gets that many catalogs? And you owe the endocrinologist like a million dollars. Might want to follow up on some of those bills. Alright – see ya.”