Dylan Thomas be damned, I feel like crap. I am home from work today feeling unwell due to my blood sugar coming to a decision that it would act in an unmanageable fashion. I have written of my issue with the advancement of age, and the irritating assortment of ailments that has near bested the quietude I pursue and fervently desire to realize in the fullness of time which is my life. I do not like getting old.
As chronicled previously, I sought advice from the realm of Hippocrates a few years ago with disquieting result. The healer at the time informed me of a variety of afflictions that have power in my life. One being diabetes mellitus which holds innumerable ways and means with which to curtail, impede, and otherwise piss me off as I circumnavigate that which we call life. I treat this malady with medication that, for the most part, is sufficient to beat back the beast. As a disease it is most insidious in that it can and will control your life. I have to transport two types of medication wherever I go in contemplation of eating meals. Given my girth, and acute sense of taste, I eat out socially quite often, and must maintain my health.
The problematic part of carrying medication comes in the amount and variety of pills that I must take. I would offer this forewarning to those reaching the age equal to one half century that if you go to the doctor, said oath taker (Hippocrates, remember?) will most definitely send you packing with a prescription for some sort of remedy guaranteed to bring back the ecstasy and angst of earlier time. I have seven such panacea’s in my catholiconian war chest.
A few mornings ago, I found it necessary to restock the portable container I keep with me at all times, and replenished it with the wrong pills. I went about my business of educating the poor waif’s of society and thought all to be splendid and pleasing. As I went about the business of plying my trade, I noticed that something seemed…well…off. Helping students with grammar exercise proved futile in that I had apparently forgotten the difference between a noun, proper or common and a pronoun. The distinction concerning simple predicates and complex predicates proved a mystery. It proved frustrating with the result, in the end, of searching for the end of the period, and lunch/conference period.
Waking this morn with a ravaging hoard of Visigoths in my cranium, I discovered that my blood sugar was three times what it should be, and that I must see to this predicament.
I lay in bed until it proved tortuous, I wandered about the house aimlessly (well not very much wandering given the size of my apartment), I sough relief in Jeopardy to no avail (teen tournament and I lost miserably), a call to my sweet Deifiúr, and finally to the keyboard. If I could find no respite from my own idiocy (filling the bottle with the wrong pills) I could at least not have to endure this malevolence unaccompanied, hence the email reminding you that I have once more made an entry into your life through this blog.
I, ostensibly, have found words again as useful tools in the healing of the soul. I have shared my wonder with humankind, and my blood sugar has reduced to a manageable level. I feel competency returning, and a reinvigoration over the next hill in this journey. Then again, it’s only 2:30 PM and there is a pork chop and gravy banquet looming in the next few hours. Hopefully, with the proper medication, and a little more effective attention to what I take prior to this feast, I will return to the fiefdom of academia upon the rising of the Sun.
Peace.
P.S. Now I do not need, nor will accept portentous dialogue informing of the fact that I may be killing myself so, please refrain from issuing redundancies which I have already suffered from the Realm of Hippocrates. I love you too.
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