THOSE PANCAKES WILL KILL YOU

So, it’s been an interesting few weeks here.  Victories and defeats.  Which is kind of what life is about; isn’t it?  It’s funny how people seem to focus so much on the defeats, but in reality it’s the defeats and the challenges that make us better people.  And let’s face it, I need all the help I can get because I’m not a good person.

First the victory.  I finally paid off the debt I ended up with after the divorce.  Two years, thousands of dollars of debt gone.  I’m back to where I started “almost.”  House and car.  When I got married, I didn’t have a car payment.  If I’d been thinking clearly two years ago, I would have bought a used car and try to have it paid off by now as well instead of buying a new car—I thought I was going to get the A-plan for one last time, didn’t know I was going to have to pay the doofus for that.  But whatever, the debt is gone.

So, what do I do to celebrate?  Well, run up my own debt of course…lol. Actually, my house needed carpet from the day I moved in.  I thought about carpeting the entire house, but changed my mind when I looked at the number of books I’d have to move and the huge desk in my writing room.  So, I just settled for replacing the worst of the carpet.  It does look awesome and better yet, the strange musty smell that I couldn’t get rid of in the house has disappeared.  When that carpet is paid off, I’ll move on to the bedrooms.  I figure, I’m more inclined to get different colors for the carpets in there anyway.

But overall, I consider being out of debt and getting new carpet a win.  I think Charlie Sheen would as well. 

But the old Karma hag still has her eye on me.  Can’t let Jo be all that happy, can we.  Oh no.  Can’t have that.  It would upset the balance of the universe.

With the recent elimination of my staggering debt, I decide I need to relieve myself of my mother’s constant nagging and get myself checked out.  I did the doctor thing when I started training for the 5k thing, but that was just for the heart that beats too fast.  This time I got the whole blood work thing.  This is kind of how I got the results.

Doctor:  You know no one has ever checked your sugar before.

Jo:  Well, aren’t you supposed to?  I mean, I’m fat.  I have diabetes in my family.

Doctor:  Yeah, you would think that would be a normal thing to check, but no one has.  I looked at all your records.  Got nothing.  But I checked it.

Jo: This isn’t going to be good; is it?

Doctor:  Your glucose levels were really high.

Jo:  You do realize today is Halloween right?  You realize I have a huge tub of candy sitting at my house right now, filled with good stuff, not the crappy Whoppers or Almond Joy or that black and orange wrapped “no name” candy. 

Doctor:  Would you like to reschedule your appointment for tomorrow?

Jo:  Well, you’ve kind of already ruined it just by inference at this point.  And my birthday is in 10 days, along with carb heaven Thanksgiving.  You’ve effectively tainted those as well.  So, you might as well spell it out.

Doctor:  Well, you don’t have any of the other symptoms.

Jo:  Actually, I probably do, but I also excel at denial.

Doctor:  I can see that.  Well, I’m going to give you a tester.  You’re going to test for a month and fax the results back to me.

Jo:  What about—

Doctor:  Whoa there.  I know about you and your question asking.  I’m setting you an appointment with a dietician so you can spend three hours of her time asking questions about food and combinations and times to eat.  She’s got a cheaper hourly rate.

Jo:  I appreciate that.

Doctor:  I’m really not doing it for you, to be honest.

Jo: Still.

Doctor:  Okay, I’ll check out your fax and call you in a month.  Have a good Halloween.

Jo gives doctor a dirty look.

Doctor laughs and sends Jo to billing.

Yeah, so that’s what happened.  I now have to be a grown up and do what I need to instead of what I want to.  Pretty crappy if you ask me.  But, you know, the alternative is dying a horrible death.  If I go out, I would prefer that it be fast.  I don’t want to be losing legs and feet and toes or taking injections every day or whatever.

So, I met with the dietician.  I really don’t need her to tell me what she wants to tell me.  I know the deal.  Most fat people know the deal, we know what we’re supposed to eat and how we’re supposed to eat.  Check out my friend Nancy’s blog if you don’t believe me.  She tells it like it is.  We obsess about it; we feel guilty about it.  We figure everytime we open our mouths people are saying, “Look at the fat girl, she’s eating!”  We’re self conscious about what we buy in the grocery store.  But I ask my questions and the lady is actually quite good about deviating from her program and answering me; I actually learn some stuff.

Of course, what I learned sucks.  I’m addicted to carbs.  Carbs are bad.  My favorite foods in the world are carbs:  rice (there goes the Chinese addiction), dressing at Thanksgiving, homemade bread, potatoes.   Yeah, Thanksgiving is gonna suck for me.  Pass the fickin’ green bean casserole.

Could have gotten an iPad for my birthday, instead I get a flippin’ treadmill.

This is how my day went today:  Wake up. Stab myself in the finger until I bleed.  Write down a pathetically high number. Have oatmeal with skim milk and some nuts for breakfast.  Go out and work in the yard.  Stop for lunch which consists of a hard-boiled egg and popcorn.  Clean the gutters.  Come in for a bottle of water.  Stuff myself into a sports bra that severely restricts my breathing.  Get on the treadmill.  It’s great to get some use out of these running shoes again; isn’t it?  Run/walk 15 minutes.  Simultaneoulsy with the run/walk:  yell at dog to stay away from the treadmill, yell at the cat to stay away from the tread mill, yell at the dog to stay away from the cat (I can see them chasing each other back and forth down the hallway on my new flippin’ carpet).  Let the dog out.  Yell at the dog for chasing a squirrel.

They say high blood sugar makes a person irritable….

Take a long bath.  Read on the back of my bubble bath that baths are not recommended for diabetics.  Say “fuck em” I’m not giving up my bleeping bubble bath.  Talk to friend on phone.  Talk to mom on phone.  Eat dinner:  baked salmon, brown rice, and a small salad with Italian dressing.  Go in to type my blog so I can bitch.  Try not to think about how much I hurt right now.

How my day should have gone:  Wake up.  Pancakes.  Check Facebook.  Play on my new iPad.  Rake the yard.  Come in.  Have a boloney sandwich while watching Ghost Adventures on the DVR, maybe a few episodes of Seinfield on DVD (up to season 3!).  Talk on the phone.  Facebook.  Write.  Oooh, look, I have a new iPad.  Dinner:  Salmon with a honey teriyaki glaze, mashed potatoes and dinner rolls.  Write.  Watch some TV.  Play tug of war with the dog—using the cat.  Bubble bath without caring about the annoying blurb on the bottle.  Eat some leftover 3 musketeers.  Bed.

Yes, life would be so much easier if the pancakes weren’t trying to kill me and if adulthood hadn’t come crashing in.