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They're singing my song, Ma.

I was expecting my blood sugar to go down somewhat, six hours after I ate lunch, but it's just a hair down into the orange zone at 199 and I have the horrible feeling that tomorrow when I get to work there's going to be a little sandwich baggie on my desk with all the meds I was supposed to take this morning and didn't.


Maybe it's just the fatigue talking, but this kind of crap is getting old. I knew bandaging my legs would help, but when the Coban wrapping proved to be too much of a problem I didn't get around to just slapping Telfa pads and tape on for another couple of weeks, which is probably why I was in such bad shape the weekend of Detour.

That was just embarrassing, and the lack of sleep didn't help either...whatever the kitchen cabinet might say, I think by the end of the weekend most of the the staff was glad I wasn't going to be chairman in 2007. It was painfully obvious that I couldn't keep up and keep an eye on things. Oh, maybe I could bring down a few amps of righteous wrath when needed, rock the mic and work the crowd, but there was too much going on that I should have been aware of...and I wasn't.

I'm also worried about the infections. They've been happening more often. Maybe they're not all the ass-kicking onslaughts that laid me out for a couple of weeks last November, but each one adds to the cumulative damage, and I'm not healing too quickly any more. Not nearly as fast I did just three years ago. There have been times lately when I wonder if I'm going to make it out of here and back to Washington alive, much less with my affairs in order...seems like half the people I meet ask me if I'm okay instead of saying hello. :S

I don't know if I want comments on this...I'll screen them until I make up my mind in the morning.

Well, enough with the pity party.Time to go to bed without dinner, since I apparently need it like another hole in my head. Futons, shelving, single-vision sunglasses and overdue library books can wait for tomorrow.