Nothing to See Here…

Yeah, this is another diabetes rant (don’t worry about WTF it has to do with the picture over there on the left - I’ll get to that - just be patient!).

I want a fucking cure. I want Santa to put THAT under my god-damned tree this Christmas (and if Santa takes orders from God who might be miffed over my foul language, then let me just say “Oh my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee, and I detest all my sins because of thy just punishment, but most of all because I have offended thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love, and I firmly resolve with the help of thy grace to sin no more and avoid the near occasion of sin, yadda yadda yadda, sorry I don’t believe in you, Amen.”)

I’m only barely exaggerating when I say that it’s like we can hardly leave the house these days. Seems like every fucking time we go out, he has a hypoglycemic episode. Every time. Then there I am in the mall or the supermarket or wherever with three kids and a stubborn, aggressive, drunk-acting 185 pound man who doesn’t want to cooperate.

The damn low-sugar episodes aren’t new at all; it’s the lack of a warning system that is new. Bill has been diabetic since he was just a little tyke. But after so many years with the disease, he’s fallen to a condition known as ‘hypoglycemic unawareness’. His warning system has failed. By the time we’re aware of it, he’s pretty far gone and no longer capable of adequately managing it himself.

So there I am with a screaming 18 month old, a stubborn 3 year old, an ADHD 9 year old and a freaking drunk-acting grown-up.

Can I run away to YOUR house? Please?

I got him a Cherry Slurpee (yeah, I had an ulterior motive - I LOVE those things!) and we got the fuck out of dodge.

Good thing, too - we got home JUST IN TIME for the CBS Knot’s Landing Reunion special! Can you believe it? The gang, all together again. Knot’s Landing - only the BEST prime-time drama of ALL TIMES. There is the picture tie in up there. Yes, it’s true. Knot’s Landing ROCKS the casbah. Don’t try to tell me differently. Desparate Housewives pales in comparison. Abby Ewing could kick ANY of their asses!

Happy weekend, peeps.