Sugar Sugar Co-Co Pop.

Word to the wise – if you are around me for the next three months, please lay off the Diabetes jokes.  I’m a bit sensitive.  My recent lab results came in and my blood sugars are on the rise.  Doctor Wisconsin discussed several options, like insulin injections, synthetic Gecko (yes, that kind of Gecko) spit, and other various forms of chemicals that I can throw at my liver to wake that fat bitch up and get a move on in making my blood less tasty to all those who crave a Krispy Kreme.

The Bitch is back!

If you want to hurt me, make some diabetic fat fuck jokes, but I’ll have you know that I am now back in the habit of making myself hurt three times a day – hurt to the point of drawing blood and getting a number that reminds me of why that second helping wasn’t such a good idea. I am becoming the world’s lamest and least attractive cutter.   But atleast I got a snazzy cool new monitor, for frizzity free, y’all!  When I went to the doctor, I brought my old trusty meter in to have it cleaned and the nurse balked at it, saying it was ancient. She threw a new one at me, free of charge (I think).  But Boy, howdy, the test strips that come with these fuckers aren’t.  They each cost a dollar.  And a good person that has been stricken with “the sugars” is supposed to be testing themselves three times daily: when they wake up, two hours after the first meal and right before bed.   And maybe a little more when they are “feeling weird” which, in my world is quite often.

After dropping 125 bucks on a one months supply of these suckers at target, a new seed of rage blossomed within me. 

Don’t worry, I’ll still be kind and patient to all of you humans, but I’ll have you know that deep down inside.....I am fucking livid.  This is a plutonium core of rage that is humming 24/7.

This really seals the deal…why get married?  Why see anyone.  I’ve got a wonderful chronic disease that will keep me in line for the rest of my life.  And in the words of Chris Rock, “life isn’t short.  Life is long…especially if you make the wrong decisions.”

No insurance company would ever take me if I walked in the door…but since the one I have is stuck with me, they should be proud… I am going to live a long and miserable life and I am going to be making them a lot of fucking money while I prick myself in private bathrooms, trying not to hurt the part of my finger that will play a guitar.

I am going to be around this bitch for forevers and for reals.

I don’t need a wife/ husband /cigar store indian/ trust fund baby snuff film extra (I like to keep my options open) to keep me alive.  This blood glucose monitor will do just fine.  And just look at how much I spend on her!  We’ll be hittin’ my two month’s salary in no time! 

When the Doc told me of my options, he said I’d have to come back every three months for blood tests and he’s giving me the first three months to try to lower my sugars the old fashioned way:  diet and exercise.

That’s why, this Thursday (which is my “Saturday” a.k.a first day off of work), I’ll be driving back to River Falls, WI – why?  Because I’m too faithful to the only man who has seen and touched my penis, Dr. Wisconsin.  I’m going to the River Falls Medical Clinic to see Deb, the Diabetes Dietician.  Tripple D’s, y’all!  We’re gonna discuss nutrition and the hot topics of the day.  This appointment is set for 8:30 a.m.  On my Saturday.  In Wisconsin.  This is my one shot, peoples.  My one shot before I have to start taking actual shots.  In the ass.