“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.”