Nothing's definite, you understand, but tomorrow I have to go to the doctor; I suspect I may have diabetes. I have the symptoms; of course, it could be something else, so that's why I'm not saying for sure. But in the past few days I've had the tell-tale swelling and pain in the legs, along with some freckly discolouration, and that's an entirely new thing for me.
If it is diabetes, it's the day I've been dreading (and expecting) for years, but in a way it'll also be a kind of relief. It'll be a chance to get my affairs in order, at least. I've been meaning to do a will for a few years now, so at least this is my impetus. Plus it might explain a few things, such as why I've been so inexplicably irritable the past few years - I mean, even more than usual.
I still haven't decided what I'll do with everything: the cat, of course, will have to find a good home, and I have an awful lot of stuff to get rid of. Then there's the matter of the blogs... I don't know if I'll leave them up or take them down. Anyway, I'll probably still have a couple of years to decide before things get too bad. Who knows? This might be just the incentive I need to write at least one novel.
There's something very cathartic about facing a death sentence that actually has me feeling very calm, rather than panicking. I guess it's my way of exerting control; I'll put my affairs in order and then go. On my own timetable, when I decide, before I go blind or lose my legs.
I see my mother, gobbling pills like Ms. Pac-Man, and think about what a horrible life it must be. Three pills a day for the diabetes, another five pills a day for the side-effects from the diabetes medication... Plus the cost! Not much of a life at all, although it must be great for the shareholders of the various pharmaceutical companies involved.
Of course, I wasn't really having that great a life anyway; the idea of spending the last forty years of my life single and alone, getting sicker and sicker, doesn't exactly inspire in me the greatest joie de vivre. Try as I might the self-pity I have is too strong to overcome. I had such big dreams - real ambitions - but I made all the wrong choices, and in the end I guess the food I used to numb the pain may just prove the death of me.
And if it's not diabetes, well, dodging the bullet may just be the opportunity I need to make some significant changes in my life regarding diet and exercise, to make a real examination of my priorities and ensure that the life I'm leading is the life I want to lead.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Stephen Fry on Self-Pity
The gentleman knows what he's talking about; from now on, whenever I feel the need to indulge in this particular habit of mine, I'm going to remember these words.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Okay, That Was Weird
Seemingly overnight - well, it's technically been months, but you get my drift - I've gone from shunned troll to hot property. Each new development in the saga has given me considerable qualms, but this last development could be measured on a seismograph. Ten minutes later and my heart is still pounding.
A total stranger wanted to have sex with me using my new iSight camera.
He's in a relationship, so I didn't; given my newfound respect for consistency - a good portion of which is remaining true to one's principles - I can't consider that anything but cheating, and I don't even want to be the other person in that situation. Still, I wonder what I would have done if a) he'd been hotter, and b) he'd been single. After all, my principles may be high but they're not completely unassailable.
Despite having what I feel is a rather sleazy soul trapped in the body of a prude, something about the situation seemed wrong, so I withdrew from it as quickly and as non-judgementally as possible. Some people undoubtedly get off on sleaze, but I feel sex is about a connection and (aptly, as it turns out) ours was a bad one; try as I might I couldn't get the sound to work.
Nevertheless, one of these days one of these close calls is going to connect; I suppose it's good to set aside my qualms early in that case, as when it finally happens the last thing I want to do is awkwardly withdraw and spend the next half hour on the sofa, breathing shallowly and trying not to hyper-ventilate.
Anyway, that's all I have to say; I have some more breathing into a paper bag to do, and then I'd better get back to work on the other side.
Breathe... Breathe... Breathe...
A total stranger wanted to have sex with me using my new iSight camera.
He's in a relationship, so I didn't; given my newfound respect for consistency - a good portion of which is remaining true to one's principles - I can't consider that anything but cheating, and I don't even want to be the other person in that situation. Still, I wonder what I would have done if a) he'd been hotter, and b) he'd been single. After all, my principles may be high but they're not completely unassailable.
Despite having what I feel is a rather sleazy soul trapped in the body of a prude, something about the situation seemed wrong, so I withdrew from it as quickly and as non-judgementally as possible. Some people undoubtedly get off on sleaze, but I feel sex is about a connection and (aptly, as it turns out) ours was a bad one; try as I might I couldn't get the sound to work.
Nevertheless, one of these days one of these close calls is going to connect; I suppose it's good to set aside my qualms early in that case, as when it finally happens the last thing I want to do is awkwardly withdraw and spend the next half hour on the sofa, breathing shallowly and trying not to hyper-ventilate.
Anyway, that's all I have to say; I have some more breathing into a paper bag to do, and then I'd better get back to work on the other side.
Breathe... Breathe... Breathe...
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Crappy New Year
Well, we're a week in and already the year is shaping up to be one big crapfest.
New Year's Day my USB ports overheated, causing my computer to crash, taking out every digital photo I've ever taken in the process. I still have a few photos here and there - on various disks and at Facebook - but all in all more than 5,000 photos of mine have been lost, including pictures of various parties and events I've covered, most of which are irreplaceable.
The ring I inherited - the sale of which was to finance my purchase of a new laptop - sold for a whopping $62; it had been appraised, understand, at $3,000. This past week I discovered just what a racket is the jewellery business; a friend of mine had a similar experience with the ring he gave his fiancee - $2,500 he paid, and three months later after they broke up the jeweller he bought it from offered him $100 for it.
Despite the fact that it turns out I am actually hot stuff - if Facebook is to be believed, anyway - that turns out to be a minor consolation when compared to numerous crippling losses I've suffered in the same time period. And yet...
I'm still searching for that silver lining like it's the motherfucking Comstock Lode. Like a supermodel's lunch, you can't keep me down; despite failure after failure, not even occasionally lightened by a glimmer of success, I keep going. Why? It turns out masochism isn't a result of low self-esteem in my case, but a defense mechanism.
No one ever wanted to hope as badly as I do, despite every sign from the Universe that it's time to take a long walk off a short bridge. Professionally I am hanging on by a thread, having seen 18 months work destroyed through no fault of my own; at least these blogs are still up, although the way things are going I wouldn't count on them lasting either, especially given the technical difficulties that plagued them in November and December.
And, of course, none of the guys who think I'm hotter than magma in a Speedo lives within a thousand kilometres of me.
New Year's Day my USB ports overheated, causing my computer to crash, taking out every digital photo I've ever taken in the process. I still have a few photos here and there - on various disks and at Facebook - but all in all more than 5,000 photos of mine have been lost, including pictures of various parties and events I've covered, most of which are irreplaceable.
The ring I inherited - the sale of which was to finance my purchase of a new laptop - sold for a whopping $62; it had been appraised, understand, at $3,000. This past week I discovered just what a racket is the jewellery business; a friend of mine had a similar experience with the ring he gave his fiancee - $2,500 he paid, and three months later after they broke up the jeweller he bought it from offered him $100 for it.
Despite the fact that it turns out I am actually hot stuff - if Facebook is to be believed, anyway - that turns out to be a minor consolation when compared to numerous crippling losses I've suffered in the same time period. And yet...
I'm still searching for that silver lining like it's the motherfucking Comstock Lode. Like a supermodel's lunch, you can't keep me down; despite failure after failure, not even occasionally lightened by a glimmer of success, I keep going. Why? It turns out masochism isn't a result of low self-esteem in my case, but a defense mechanism.
No one ever wanted to hope as badly as I do, despite every sign from the Universe that it's time to take a long walk off a short bridge. Professionally I am hanging on by a thread, having seen 18 months work destroyed through no fault of my own; at least these blogs are still up, although the way things are going I wouldn't count on them lasting either, especially given the technical difficulties that plagued them in November and December.
And, of course, none of the guys who think I'm hotter than magma in a Speedo lives within a thousand kilometres of me.
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