Hola Amigos,
I'm sitting here in my dorm room, by myself, in the dark. I was about to begin a nice nap, when I was inspired. I reflect...a lot. Events of my life, possible events of the future, I think about it all. Often I assess what I did, if I should have acted differently, etc. So here I was, reflecting, reminiscing if you will the last, ehhh, we'll go with year, life, etc.
This is what I've realized. I don't get mad. Honestly, I cannot really think of too many times when I have experienced that fiery hot emotion so many people discuss. You know, anger? I don't really feel it. However, I do experience a different. Hurt. If I am betrayed, I don't get angry. I get hurt. If someone breaks my trust, I don't get angry. I get hurt. If I am insulted, I don't get angry. I get hurt. If someone crushes my heart, I don't get angry at them. I get hurt. Actually, we're going to go deep within my...heart, so I can better explain this to you.
I would honestly, HONESTLY encourage you to quit reading if you don't want to see me, in an emotional sense, poured out on your computer screen. And so I begin. I haven't heard from my dad in quite some time. Things with that side of the family have always been, well, shaky. Most people who experience this go through a stage of anger or frustration. I haven't. Maybe it's too fresh, though I don't think that's the case. I mean, a year is long enough for an emotional process to take place, right? A process it's been. Yet through this process, I haven't once "hated" my dad or been angry. I couldn't dream it. I've mentally punched him before, but my dad's a big guy, so that was a fail (plus, it wasn't real). But when I think of the tough times going on, I also think of the amazing memories I've experienced with my father. We've built bird houses, cracked jokes, rode four wheelers, went diving (with an oxygen tank) in our nasty family pond, etc. And my humor, yeah, it comes from him. Therefore, if my dad were to ever show up on my door step, I can honestly say I'd open the door for him to barge right back into my life.
After reading this, don't get me wrong, please. I wouldn't change these events, and I am by no means "emotionally distressed." I handle problems. Actually, no. I really don't. God does. Thank goodness, too. If I handled them, I'd just crawl into a little hole and never come out. But no. God gives me the strength, knowledge, and courage to handle these dramatic problems every day. Do I have scars? Heck yeah. You're a lucky person if you get through my walls. I set 'em firm and high. However, I don't believe in allowing scars or past circumstances to allow us the right to label ourselves as victims. I'm not saying I'm perfect and handle this whole situation with ease. Far, far from it, my friends. I still catch myself tearing up. I mean, what girl doesn't want a lap to crawl up onto when life keeps pushing her down? This is when I wish God was, well, a person. I have recently tried sitting on my Bible. DON'T JUDGE. I make my relationship VERY personal. HOwever, sitting on the Bible really doesn't have the same effect. Actually, it's quite uncomfortable. And my heart continues to break every time I send a text message or phone call and get no reply. I don't think I will ever be "okay" with the situation. Never will it be handled with "ease."
However, I can honestly say I wouldn't be...well...me...if it weren't for these trials. I've been formed and molded into who I am, and for that I am beyond thankful. So instead of asking Why Me? I have challenged myself to thank God for these trying situations. Thank Him that I had wonderful times with my dad building, exploring, etc (and who knows, maybe there will be more in the future). Thank Him that I've learned the value of joy--smiling when all I want to do is ball my eyes out. Thank Him that I've found the friends who will allow me to ball my eyes when needed. Because despite this rocky past, I've experienced an amazing, amazing life. God has blessed me in ways I never would have dreamed possible. I mean, He allowed the creation of insulin, which always reiterates the fact that I must have a purpose. OKay, that was dumb. I know. But true!
Well, folks, there you have it. Below I have inserted a verse that pretty much screams the last paragraph. Enjoy, loves. Talk to you soon.
Keep it real,
the Lone Woolf
"Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, when you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. Let perseverance finish it's work, so you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything." James 1:2-4
About Me
- The Lone Woolf
- I love life. I love God. I love laughter. Yet I am far more complex than this.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Home, Sweet, Home. . .
Hola Amigos,
As I sit here at my dinner table delighting in some delicious hummus and a diet coke, I can't get over how great it is to be home. There really isn't much I enjoy more than my family, and since my brother and sister-in-law are home, it's truly blissful. We are by no means the picture perfect family, but the trials we've conquered, relationships we've built, and meals we've eaten have only brought us closer. This is where I feel comfortable. No one here cares that I tell ridiculously terrible jokes, they laugh when I laugh (more so because I'm laughing. Some would say my chuckle is contagious). I also receive the most criticism here. I happen to be probably the least smart in my family, and I am blonde. They don't let me forget this, but I take it in humor. So may I please allow you to experience them as I do, in a sense.
Today, after my last class, I jumped in my car, picked up some tahini paste for my vegan family members (NOT me, for I LOVE meat), and flew across town to pick up my brother and SIL from the airport. Then, we were on our way home. After 2.5 hours of good brother, SIL, Lora bonding time, we were located in good old P-town. My amazing grandma (by amazing, I mean offered to do a bungee jumping thing with me while she was at the age of 70) who is in town from Memphis, TN came driving up, honked thirty times, and was located in the driveway. I hugged Barbar (my grandma), unloaded my dirty laundry from my car, and sprinted inside to see the bright shining face that I find myself missing ever so frequently. Addie. She obviously runs down the stairs, and give me a tight squeeze. This little girl happens to be one of the coolest little 10-year-olds I know, and I'm not exaggerating. She helped me haul my bags upstairs, and showed me her new fish. They are beautiful, her fish.
Minutes later, up my front porch walks my best friend and number one fan, momma dearest. =) Giant hug number two. Let me tell you one very important thing. I really like to hug people. It actually runs in our family. In-laws have, in fact, referred to my entire mom's side of the family as "the hugging family". Haha, and it's a well deserved title. We all made our way up to Addie's room to check out her new fish and catch up. Obviously, I sat on my momma's lap. I've realized, it really doesn't matter how old I am, I'm never going to outgrow my mom's lap. I don't feel more loved anywhere else, really.
We decided to make a family jaunt to the wonderful three aisle grocery store two blocks down the road. Addie, fortunately, downloaded a truth or dare app on her iPod, and this was our entertainment for the next hour. By the end of the trip, I was looking to the left of everyone's head and saying "would you like fries with that?" anytime someone asked me to do something. For example, Mom said, "Lora, will you go get 8 cans of garbanzo beans." I simply replied, "Sure madre, would you like fries with that?" Her blunt response, "Lora, I don't know what you're doing, but go get the beans." She actually does enjoy my humor, but the beans were urgent. However, this doesn't compare to Addie's dare. Her iPod dared her to "go tell an adult you have to go number 2." HAHAHAHA. She did it. See? Coolest 10-year-old EVER.
On the way home, Addie and I enjoyed the nice jar of pickles we had just purchased a mere two minutes earlier and good race (yes, pickles were in hand). Because of our love of dill, this jar didn't make it very far. Yum.
Since then, I've enjoyed a nice game of Disney Sing It, hung out on my kitchen floor (my favorite spot in the house), been blockaded by the kitchen table chairs (thank you, brother), and ate some delicious grub. Well, minus the vegan food. My family is the bomb dot com. Sometimes, I selfishly catch myselft praying I marry an orphan man, so I don't have to give up holidays. hahahaha..joking. But that's how I feel about my family. I can't imagine a better one.
Well, low blood sugar is calling for my complete and undivided attention.
Over and out,
The Lone Woolf
As I sit here at my dinner table delighting in some delicious hummus and a diet coke, I can't get over how great it is to be home. There really isn't much I enjoy more than my family, and since my brother and sister-in-law are home, it's truly blissful. We are by no means the picture perfect family, but the trials we've conquered, relationships we've built, and meals we've eaten have only brought us closer. This is where I feel comfortable. No one here cares that I tell ridiculously terrible jokes, they laugh when I laugh (more so because I'm laughing. Some would say my chuckle is contagious). I also receive the most criticism here. I happen to be probably the least smart in my family, and I am blonde. They don't let me forget this, but I take it in humor. So may I please allow you to experience them as I do, in a sense.
Today, after my last class, I jumped in my car, picked up some tahini paste for my vegan family members (NOT me, for I LOVE meat), and flew across town to pick up my brother and SIL from the airport. Then, we were on our way home. After 2.5 hours of good brother, SIL, Lora bonding time, we were located in good old P-town. My amazing grandma (by amazing, I mean offered to do a bungee jumping thing with me while she was at the age of 70) who is in town from Memphis, TN came driving up, honked thirty times, and was located in the driveway. I hugged Barbar (my grandma), unloaded my dirty laundry from my car, and sprinted inside to see the bright shining face that I find myself missing ever so frequently. Addie. She obviously runs down the stairs, and give me a tight squeeze. This little girl happens to be one of the coolest little 10-year-olds I know, and I'm not exaggerating. She helped me haul my bags upstairs, and showed me her new fish. They are beautiful, her fish.
Minutes later, up my front porch walks my best friend and number one fan, momma dearest. =) Giant hug number two. Let me tell you one very important thing. I really like to hug people. It actually runs in our family. In-laws have, in fact, referred to my entire mom's side of the family as "the hugging family". Haha, and it's a well deserved title. We all made our way up to Addie's room to check out her new fish and catch up. Obviously, I sat on my momma's lap. I've realized, it really doesn't matter how old I am, I'm never going to outgrow my mom's lap. I don't feel more loved anywhere else, really.
We decided to make a family jaunt to the wonderful three aisle grocery store two blocks down the road. Addie, fortunately, downloaded a truth or dare app on her iPod, and this was our entertainment for the next hour. By the end of the trip, I was looking to the left of everyone's head and saying "would you like fries with that?" anytime someone asked me to do something. For example, Mom said, "Lora, will you go get 8 cans of garbanzo beans." I simply replied, "Sure madre, would you like fries with that?" Her blunt response, "Lora, I don't know what you're doing, but go get the beans." She actually does enjoy my humor, but the beans were urgent. However, this doesn't compare to Addie's dare. Her iPod dared her to "go tell an adult you have to go number 2." HAHAHAHA. She did it. See? Coolest 10-year-old EVER.
On the way home, Addie and I enjoyed the nice jar of pickles we had just purchased a mere two minutes earlier and good race (yes, pickles were in hand). Because of our love of dill, this jar didn't make it very far. Yum.
Since then, I've enjoyed a nice game of Disney Sing It, hung out on my kitchen floor (my favorite spot in the house), been blockaded by the kitchen table chairs (thank you, brother), and ate some delicious grub. Well, minus the vegan food. My family is the bomb dot com. Sometimes, I selfishly catch myselft praying I marry an orphan man, so I don't have to give up holidays. hahahaha..joking. But that's how I feel about my family. I can't imagine a better one.
Well, low blood sugar is calling for my complete and undivided attention.
Over and out,
The Lone Woolf
Saturday, January 22, 2011
The scary story called "My Life"
Hello, hello,
This blog is going to get crazy, so prepare yourself. You may need a hand to hold, a blanket to cuddle, or a person to hug because it's about to get scary. Let me begin.
So, here I am on a Saturday night. Sitting in my black, cushioned, computer chair with my legs crossed (indian style), slightly spinning back and forth as I do. My hands and mind are ever so delightfully occupied with my latest read So Long Insecurity by Beth Moore, and Chris Tomlin is playing in the background. THis, my friends, is true bliss. The perfect way to end what has already been a wonderful evening.
All of the sudden, I hear what sounds like a gun shot. I nearly jump 10 feet into the air, let out a piercing shriek, and land on my feet in warrior woman mode. Then I hear it again. By this time, I of course run to the bathroom door, which is only about two feet from me, and start banging on it as loudly as possible to get my beloved roommate out of the shower in time to clothe and get away from the murderer. "SOMEONE IS SHOOTING PEOPLE IN THE DORMS!" This is exactly what is going through this crazy mind of mine. Now, I'm devising an escape plan. First, I will tie some sheets to my bed. Yeah, that will work. Then, I'll begin climbing. "SARAH, SARAH!" I scream as I'm practically beating down the bathroom door with my fists. Then the sounds occurs one last time. It hits me. No, not a bullet, don't be silly. If that were the case, I wouldn't be writing this. My stupidity hits me. I look over to where I thought I the muffled gun shot sound was coming from. It wasn't a murderer at all, it was actually Sarah's little white refrigerator with a drawn picture of Jesus on it thanks to Emily. My mind is racing, as I'm realizing what exactly has happened, when I hear Sarah, "LORA, Lora! What's going on?" Do I inform her, so she doesn't worry? No. Of course not. I simply begin to laugh, and laugh, and laugh...excessively. Through my laughter I am trying to explain to Sarah that her fridge is so cold it is exploding her pops, but all that really comes out is laughter. And more laughter. Why? Because when I get nervous, I laugh uncontrollably. And this is what was happening.
This was, in fact, what just happened a bit ago. Moral of the story: have a better escape route planned in case of a murderer.
Alive and Well,
This blog is going to get crazy, so prepare yourself. You may need a hand to hold, a blanket to cuddle, or a person to hug because it's about to get scary. Let me begin.
So, here I am on a Saturday night. Sitting in my black, cushioned, computer chair with my legs crossed (indian style), slightly spinning back and forth as I do. My hands and mind are ever so delightfully occupied with my latest read So Long Insecurity by Beth Moore, and Chris Tomlin is playing in the background. THis, my friends, is true bliss. The perfect way to end what has already been a wonderful evening.
All of the sudden, I hear what sounds like a gun shot. I nearly jump 10 feet into the air, let out a piercing shriek, and land on my feet in warrior woman mode. Then I hear it again. By this time, I of course run to the bathroom door, which is only about two feet from me, and start banging on it as loudly as possible to get my beloved roommate out of the shower in time to clothe and get away from the murderer. "SOMEONE IS SHOOTING PEOPLE IN THE DORMS!" This is exactly what is going through this crazy mind of mine. Now, I'm devising an escape plan. First, I will tie some sheets to my bed. Yeah, that will work. Then, I'll begin climbing. "SARAH, SARAH!" I scream as I'm practically beating down the bathroom door with my fists. Then the sounds occurs one last time. It hits me. No, not a bullet, don't be silly. If that were the case, I wouldn't be writing this. My stupidity hits me. I look over to where I thought I the muffled gun shot sound was coming from. It wasn't a murderer at all, it was actually Sarah's little white refrigerator with a drawn picture of Jesus on it thanks to Emily. My mind is racing, as I'm realizing what exactly has happened, when I hear Sarah, "LORA, Lora! What's going on?" Do I inform her, so she doesn't worry? No. Of course not. I simply begin to laugh, and laugh, and laugh...excessively. Through my laughter I am trying to explain to Sarah that her fridge is so cold it is exploding her pops, but all that really comes out is laughter. And more laughter. Why? Because when I get nervous, I laugh uncontrollably. And this is what was happening.
This was, in fact, what just happened a bit ago. Moral of the story: have a better escape route planned in case of a murderer.
Alive and Well,
the Lone Woolf
The gun shots.
Yeaaahh....
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Shutdown, SHerese, Shun...my day alliterated.
Cut the intro,
So, normally I wouldn't blog so close together. The more frequent something happens, the less desired it is. I wouldn't want my blog to become, well, less desired. However, this was another day that is in deep need of being explained. My day can be simplified into three words all beginning with 'sh'--shutdown, Sherese, and shun. All new experiences, so I shall hesitate no longer. This introduction is by all means dragging on.
First word: shutdown. Within 11 minutes of my previous blog of my newest beloved addition, Dexter ceased communication with the needle stuck in my six-pack (ha, yeah right). As he was alarming me with an ever so pleasant vibrate, I was moderately freaking out due to the lack of knowledge about Dex. After working so diligently to resuscitate my dear friend, I had to throw in the towel. I h Don't worry, I went back in today, and Dex is working like the bomb dot com thanks to my wonderful study leader whom I love.
Second word: Sherese. For any of you who know me, I am an absolute, no hiding, terrible liar. If the lie I am telling is funny, I will laugh. If it's sad, I'll start sobbing (I once tried to lie to my mom in 6th grade about dating a boy, it didn't go over well). However, today, this all turned around. There is this pest of a guy who always bothers my dear roommate, and best friend, Sarah Thompson. We shall call him R. Anyway, I went to visit Sar at the information desk where she works. Well, R kept bugging her, then me, and well, you get the picture. He, too, works for housing (the same place sarah works), so he looked at me and said, "What's your name and id?" I simply looked at him and said, "Boy, shush, you don't deserve my id." Ha, so sometimes I get sassy. Unintentional, but I think it was necessary. In the next three minutes he asked me my name at least seven times, so I finally looked at him and said, "Sherese." Obviously, he didn't believe me, but to reassure him he wanted me to spell it. "S-H-E-R-E-S-E. Sherese." Wow, that came flying out of my mouth like a speeding bullet. Not just a normal bullet, a speeding one. As a child, I quit the spelling bee due to two years of public humiliation upon misspelling piece and perfume. But this quick response of the name made me reconsider my bowing out. The best part of this story is the end. He slowly got up to leave, reached out his hand, and said (in a completely serious voice), "It was nice to meet you, Sherese." Yes. Epic win.
Third and final word: SHun. Okay, so here's the scoop. Until Monday night, I am facebook fasting. Why? Because I'm, well, addicted. Yeah, judge all you want, but I was just working to control another flaw of mine. I needed to get some books read and priorities in line, soooooo I had to eliminate the devil of productivity--facebook. Anyway, most people have been rather helpful and encouraging throughout this short journey. However, the actions of one specific gentleman proved differently. After giving him the most delightful compliment man could ever ask for (I simply related him to Jim from the office), I was notified I should check something on facebook that he so kindly tagged me in. Upon informing him of my facebook fast and asking that he just tell me what it said, he spoke words that would forever haunt a facebook addict (mind you I'm also very curious person), "I know this is super mean BUT i'm gonna make you wait." So what did I do? I pulled out the oldest trick in the book. So, not the oldest, but fairly old. It actually originated in eastern Asia during the 13th century when the world was forced not to talk to the pagans. I shunned him. Well deserved.
Don't worry, I forgive easily. So everything is resolved (and I figured out what the status said via a mutual friend, so the curiosity was killed).
That's all, my friends. I am now going to jump into my bed and hit the snooze button on my brain.
Love in unshunment,
The Lone Woolf
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Introducing my newest addition to my body--Dexter.
Hellllooooo Faithful Followers,
Today, was a day to be documented in history for a multiple reason. So, may I make you wait no longer. God speed.
First of all, I had my first class regarding teaching today. HELLLLLOOOO FUTURE! It was amazing, I laughed some, I learned some, joyous, joyous day. My instructor, I learned within the first 4 minutes, loves knocking on the window of the classroom, loudly I might add, and yelling at the people who look at him. Pretty hilarious. I kind of wanted to get up and do it, too. Anyway, at one point, he brought in another instructor, and she taught us this extremely valuable lesson beginning with this quote, "I got measles from a third grader." Yes, this is what she said. Why? Because apparently, it's very, VERY important that teachers be completely up to date on immunizations. What a well learned lesson. Okay, forgive some of the sarcasm. I really am beginning to fall more deeply in love with my chosen profession with one class. Yesss...=)
Now, let me explain to you the most exciting thing I have experienced in diabetic history.
Background knowledge: I'm currently participating in a study at my local doctor's office. Therefore, I seem like a bit of a blood sugar control freak at this current point in my 16 year walk with this deficient pancreas of mine. Anyway, for part of this study, I get to use a...wait for it....wait for it...CONTINUOUS GLUCOSE MONITOR (CGM)! For those of you who have no idea what that is, and trust me, you're probably in the majority, it is a little needle permanently injected in my abdomen that is calibrated with a little machine that must be within at least five feet of my body (pictured below). Whew! This little machine then monitors my blood sugar levels...ALL OF THE TIME! So cool, my friends.
However, this is the part where I disappoint you. Or mostly me, I suppose, since I doubt this truly bothers you. This study is a blind study, so I don't get the glory of knowing what the CGM actually reads. The people running the study are constantly monitoring it, but I am simply left in the dark, unknowing presence. When I was informed of this little detail, I politely stood up, picked up the chair I had previously been sitting in, and threw it across the 4ft by 4ft room I was sitting in. Joke. Well, joke about throwing the chair, not the little room. However, I was so very disappointed. Why? Yes, I get to keep the monitor eventually, and I could potentially use this little leach of a machine if I so choose. However, this you need to know: I'm pretty far from patient. It's definitely my number character flaw, and I know. I do work to control this one small flaw (definitely a joke), but it doesn't change the fact that I want this stinkin' thing to be used to my benefit. Shove it to the back of my mind, yeah? NO. It will forever be within five feet of me. By forever, I mean a few months with the feeling of forever. To make this more enjoyable, I simply named it--Dexter (the brand is Dexcome, so Dexter was just appropriate). THough I was caught between extreme joy and depression due to this little event, I was quickly snapped out of it.
On my way out of the doctor's office, I was given some diabetic supplies for free: test strips, lantus pens, and a giant box of beautiful, sharp syringes. Of course these objects of my body's surviving affection had no storage bag because that would be unnecessary, so into the dorms I walked, supplies in hand. No problem. I walk in past those two doors, push the elevator, and immediately step on...and two others join me. I politely asked them what floor, pushed the buttons, and slumped back against the wall as I always do. Then I noticed the girl next to me glance over at my box. Her expression immediately went from nice and polite to shocked and...frightened as she read "syringes". Not only did she look frightened once, but this girl took a triple take. Yes, a triple take. As I stepped off the elevator, a sly smile came over my face, and I began to laugh. Out loud. This is the moral of this story: Diabetic intimidation is priceless.
So there was my joyous, tragic, hilarious day in a nutshell.
Love and insulin to all,
The Lone Woolf
Dexter and the site. Forgive the immodesty, I just wanted to get you in on the wholeness of how awesome Dex is.
Yes, this is what I was carrying on the elevator. On the front, the box reads, "syringes." hahah
Today, was a day to be documented in history for a multiple reason. So, may I make you wait no longer. God speed.
First of all, I had my first class regarding teaching today. HELLLLLOOOO FUTURE! It was amazing, I laughed some, I learned some, joyous, joyous day. My instructor, I learned within the first 4 minutes, loves knocking on the window of the classroom, loudly I might add, and yelling at the people who look at him. Pretty hilarious. I kind of wanted to get up and do it, too. Anyway, at one point, he brought in another instructor, and she taught us this extremely valuable lesson beginning with this quote, "I got measles from a third grader." Yes, this is what she said. Why? Because apparently, it's very, VERY important that teachers be completely up to date on immunizations. What a well learned lesson. Okay, forgive some of the sarcasm. I really am beginning to fall more deeply in love with my chosen profession with one class. Yesss...=)
Now, let me explain to you the most exciting thing I have experienced in diabetic history.
Background knowledge: I'm currently participating in a study at my local doctor's office. Therefore, I seem like a bit of a blood sugar control freak at this current point in my 16 year walk with this deficient pancreas of mine. Anyway, for part of this study, I get to use a...wait for it....wait for it...CONTINUOUS GLUCOSE MONITOR (CGM)! For those of you who have no idea what that is, and trust me, you're probably in the majority, it is a little needle permanently injected in my abdomen that is calibrated with a little machine that must be within at least five feet of my body (pictured below). Whew! This little machine then monitors my blood sugar levels...ALL OF THE TIME! So cool, my friends.
However, this is the part where I disappoint you. Or mostly me, I suppose, since I doubt this truly bothers you. This study is a blind study, so I don't get the glory of knowing what the CGM actually reads. The people running the study are constantly monitoring it, but I am simply left in the dark, unknowing presence. When I was informed of this little detail, I politely stood up, picked up the chair I had previously been sitting in, and threw it across the 4ft by 4ft room I was sitting in. Joke. Well, joke about throwing the chair, not the little room. However, I was so very disappointed. Why? Yes, I get to keep the monitor eventually, and I could potentially use this little leach of a machine if I so choose. However, this you need to know: I'm pretty far from patient. It's definitely my number character flaw, and I know. I do work to control this one small flaw (definitely a joke), but it doesn't change the fact that I want this stinkin' thing to be used to my benefit. Shove it to the back of my mind, yeah? NO. It will forever be within five feet of me. By forever, I mean a few months with the feeling of forever. To make this more enjoyable, I simply named it--Dexter (the brand is Dexcome, so Dexter was just appropriate). THough I was caught between extreme joy and depression due to this little event, I was quickly snapped out of it.
On my way out of the doctor's office, I was given some diabetic supplies for free: test strips, lantus pens, and a giant box of beautiful, sharp syringes. Of course these objects of my body's surviving affection had no storage bag because that would be unnecessary, so into the dorms I walked, supplies in hand. No problem. I walk in past those two doors, push the elevator, and immediately step on...and two others join me. I politely asked them what floor, pushed the buttons, and slumped back against the wall as I always do. Then I noticed the girl next to me glance over at my box. Her expression immediately went from nice and polite to shocked and...frightened as she read "syringes". Not only did she look frightened once, but this girl took a triple take. Yes, a triple take. As I stepped off the elevator, a sly smile came over my face, and I began to laugh. Out loud. This is the moral of this story: Diabetic intimidation is priceless.
So there was my joyous, tragic, hilarious day in a nutshell.
Love and insulin to all,
The Lone Woolf
Introducing my newest addition to my body--Dexter.
Hellllooooo Faithful Followers,
Today, was a day to be documented in history for a multiple reason. So, may I make you wait no longer. God speed.
First of all, I had my first class regarding teaching today. HELLLLLOOOO FUTURE! It was amazing, I laughed some, I learned some, joyous, joyous day. My instructor, I learned within the first 4 minutes, loves knocking on the window of the classroom, loudly I might add, and yelling at the people who look at him. Pretty hilarious. I kind of wanted to get up and do it, too. Anyway, at one point, he brought in another instructor, and she taught us this extremely valuable lesson beginning with this quote, "I got measles from a third grader." Yes, this is what she said. Why? Because apparently, it's very, VERY important that teachers be completely up to date on immunizations. What a well learned lesson. Okay, forgive some of the sarcasm. I really am beginning to fall more deeply in love with my chosen profession with one class. Yesss...=)
Now, let me explain to you the most exciting thing I have experienced in diabetic history.
Background knowledge: I'm currently participating in a study at my local doctor's office. Therefore, I seem like a bit of a blood sugar control freak at this current point in my 16 year walk with this deficient pancreas of mine. Anyway, for part of this study, I get to use a...wait for it....wait for it...CONTINUOUS GLUCOSE MONITOR (CGM)! For those of you who have no idea what that is, and trust me, you're probably in the majority, it is a little needle permanently injected in my abdomen that is calibrated with a little machine that must be within at least five feet of my body (pictured below). Whew! This little machine then monitors my blood sugar levels...ALL OF THE TIME! So cool, my friends.
However, this is the part where I disappoint you. Or mostly me, I suppose, since I doubt this truly bothers you. This study is a blind study, so I don't get the glory of knowing what the CGM actually reads. The people running the study are constantly monitoring it, but I am simply left in the dark, unknowing presence. When I was informed of this little detail, I politely stood up, picked up the chair I had previously been sitting in, and threw it across the 4ft by 4ft room I was sitting in. Joke. Well, joke about throwing the chair, not the little room. However, I was so very disappointed. Why? Yes, I get to keep the monitor eventually, and I could potentially use this little leach of a machine if I so choose. However, this you need to know: I'm pretty far from patient. It's definitely my number character flaw, and I know. I do work to control this one small flaw (definitely a joke), but it doesn't change the fact that I want this stinkin' thing to be used to my benefit. Shove it to the back of my mind, yeah? NO. It will forever be within five feet of me. By forever, I mean a few months with the feeling of forever. To make this more enjoyable, I simply named it--Dexter (the brand is Dexcome, so Dexter was just appropriate). THough I was caught between extreme joy and depression due to this little event, I was quickly snapped out of it.
On my way out of the doctor's office, I was given some diabetic supplies for free: test strips, lantus pens, and a giant box of beautiful, sharp syringes. Of course these objects of my body's surviving affection had no storage bag because that would be unnecessary, so into the dorms I walked, supplies in hand. No problem. I walk in past those two doors, push the elevator, and immediately step on...and two others join me. I politely asked them what floor, pushed the buttons, and slumped back against the wall as I always do. Then I noticed the girl next to me glance over at my box. Her expression immediately went from nice and polite to shocked and...frightened as she read "syringes". Not only did she look frightened once, but this girl took a triple take. Yes, a triple take. As I stepped off the elevator, a sly smile came over my face, and I began to laugh. Out loud. This is the moral of this story: Diabetic intimidation is priceless.
So there was my joyous, tragic, hilarious day in a nutshell.
Love and insulin to all,
The Lone Woolf
Dexter and the site. Forgive the immodesty, I just wanted to get you in on the wholeness of how awesome Dex is.
Yes, this is what I was carrying on the elevator. On the front, the box reads, "syringes." hahah
Today, was a day to be documented in history for a multiple reason. So, may I make you wait no longer. God speed.
First of all, I had my first class regarding teaching today. HELLLLLOOOO FUTURE! It was amazing, I laughed some, I learned some, joyous, joyous day. My instructor, I learned within the first 4 minutes, loves knocking on the window of the classroom, loudly I might add, and yelling at the people who look at him. Pretty hilarious. I kind of wanted to get up and do it, too. Anyway, at one point, he brought in another instructor, and she taught us this extremely valuable lesson beginning with this quote, "I got measles from a third grader." Yes, this is what she said. Why? Because apparently, it's very, VERY important that teachers be completely up to date on immunizations. What a well learned lesson. Okay, forgive some of the sarcasm. I really am beginning to fall more deeply in love with my chosen profession with one class. Yesss...=)
Now, let me explain to you the most exciting thing I have experienced in diabetic history.
Background knowledge: I'm currently participating in a study at my local doctor's office. Therefore, I seem like a bit of a blood sugar control freak at this current point in my 16 year walk with this deficient pancreas of mine. Anyway, for part of this study, I get to use a...wait for it....wait for it...CONTINUOUS GLUCOSE MONITOR (CGM)! For those of you who have no idea what that is, and trust me, you're probably in the majority, it is a little needle permanently injected in my abdomen that is calibrated with a little machine that must be within at least five feet of my body (pictured below). Whew! This little machine then monitors my blood sugar levels...ALL OF THE TIME! So cool, my friends.
However, this is the part where I disappoint you. Or mostly me, I suppose, since I doubt this truly bothers you. This study is a blind study, so I don't get the glory of knowing what the CGM actually reads. The people running the study are constantly monitoring it, but I am simply left in the dark, unknowing presence. When I was informed of this little detail, I politely stood up, picked up the chair I had previously been sitting in, and threw it across the 4ft by 4ft room I was sitting in. Joke. Well, joke about throwing the chair, not the little room. However, I was so very disappointed. Why? Yes, I get to keep the monitor eventually, and I could potentially use this little leach of a machine if I so choose. However, this you need to know: I'm pretty far from patient. It's definitely my number character flaw, and I know. I do work to control this one small flaw (definitely a joke), but it doesn't change the fact that I want this stinkin' thing to be used to my benefit. Shove it to the back of my mind, yeah? NO. It will forever be within five feet of me. By forever, I mean a few months with the feeling of forever. To make this more enjoyable, I simply named it--Dexter (the brand is Dexcome, so Dexter was just appropriate). THough I was caught between extreme joy and depression due to this little event, I was quickly snapped out of it.
On my way out of the doctor's office, I was given some diabetic supplies for free: test strips, lantus pens, and a giant box of beautiful, sharp syringes. Of course these objects of my body's surviving affection had no storage bag because that would be unnecessary, so into the dorms I walked, supplies in hand. No problem. I walk in past those two doors, push the elevator, and immediately step on...and two others join me. I politely asked them what floor, pushed the buttons, and slumped back against the wall as I always do. Then I noticed the girl next to me glance over at my box. Her expression immediately went from nice and polite to shocked and...frightened as she read "syringes". Not only did she look frightened once, but this girl took a triple take. Yes, a triple take. As I stepped off the elevator, a sly smile came over my face, and I began to laugh. Out loud. This is the moral of this story: Diabetic intimidation is priceless.
So there was my joyous, tragic, hilarious day in a nutshell.
Love and insulin to all,
The Lone Woolf
Saturday, January 15, 2011
"Say Cheese!"
My Dearest Followers,
Today, has been a mix of boredom and extreme adventure. I believe it would be in your best interest to be informed about (or more so of my best interest to inform). This will be a long post, so you may not be up for it. I do, however, give you permission to read it in multiple settings because, yes, I love you that much. So here we go. Let me lay it all on the line for you...
It all started like this. Here I was, alone in my suite. I truly don't mind secluding myself from the world for a while. I mean, sometimes it's good to give my vocal chords a rest. Anyway, I was all warm and cuddled up in my green comforter with the warming help of my brown furry blanket. Sheer bliss, my friends, and boy, was I loving every minute of it. Then it hit--beep, beep, beep, beep. As I rolled over and rubbed my sleepy eyes, I did what any normal person would do--grabbed my cell phone to check the time. 8 a.m. My alarm was not due to go off for at least another 30 minutes, and I wasn't actually planning on getting out of bed for about another hour (I'm a fan of the snooze button). This beep obviously was not mine. In my mind, I knew that the beep would be gone in a matter of minutes. The owner of this ridiculously annoying sound couldn't possibly let it last. WRONG! I'm sure you are on the edge of your seat wondering when the vile sound eventually ceased. Well, let me be the first to inform you: 10 a.m. TEN! TWO HOURS OF CONSTANT NAGGING ON MY BELOVED HAMMER, ANVIL, AND STIRRUP! I nearly went hulk on the wall and ripped that cord out of the outlet myself. Sure, I played some delightful music, which covered it up momentarily. However, in between each song, the beep was back. And up the wall I drove. But don't worry, there is more to this story.
I finally managed to pull myself together long enough to make myself look half-way presentable for the day. And out I went for my journey of the day: buying books. I walk into the RSC to stop by the bank for some money. Lo, it was closed. Stink. I could venture to the public one down the street, but I am a creature of habit so that would be...SCARY. The bank lady on campus and I, we're tight. She knows my banking incompetence, and I think I may know about her secret love for the loan man. I see the way she looks at him, but don't worry, I'll never tell. Therefore, this proves my point: why would I ever want to venture to Woodlawn? My mom answered this question for me. I needed books.
So I ventured to the new bank. And this bank, my friends, it was beautiful. I felt unworthy. Don't get me wrong, the Bank of Protection is beautiful, too, but Commerce had a "the line starts here" sort of set up. It was a big deal, and I was in awe. I ran to the counter, and got some cash. Where to next? The beautiful book store. I, without the help of the workers, found all of my books. Talk about accomplishment, my friends. I'm a rather independent person, so asking for help isn't exactly something I enjoy doing. AND I DIDN'T HAVE TO! So what did I do? Rejoiced, obviously! A happy dance in the middle of the bookstore and a heel kick on the way out. Life is good.
It only makes sense that the next place I would go is Walmart. A little leftover cash was in hand, and I NEEDED some grub. So, this, my dear followers, is where my title comes in. Here's what I ended up with:
Today, has been a mix of boredom and extreme adventure. I believe it would be in your best interest to be informed about (or more so of my best interest to inform). This will be a long post, so you may not be up for it. I do, however, give you permission to read it in multiple settings because, yes, I love you that much. So here we go. Let me lay it all on the line for you...
It all started like this. Here I was, alone in my suite. I truly don't mind secluding myself from the world for a while. I mean, sometimes it's good to give my vocal chords a rest. Anyway, I was all warm and cuddled up in my green comforter with the warming help of my brown furry blanket. Sheer bliss, my friends, and boy, was I loving every minute of it. Then it hit--beep, beep, beep, beep. As I rolled over and rubbed my sleepy eyes, I did what any normal person would do--grabbed my cell phone to check the time. 8 a.m. My alarm was not due to go off for at least another 30 minutes, and I wasn't actually planning on getting out of bed for about another hour (I'm a fan of the snooze button). This beep obviously was not mine. In my mind, I knew that the beep would be gone in a matter of minutes. The owner of this ridiculously annoying sound couldn't possibly let it last. WRONG! I'm sure you are on the edge of your seat wondering when the vile sound eventually ceased. Well, let me be the first to inform you: 10 a.m. TEN! TWO HOURS OF CONSTANT NAGGING ON MY BELOVED HAMMER, ANVIL, AND STIRRUP! I nearly went hulk on the wall and ripped that cord out of the outlet myself. Sure, I played some delightful music, which covered it up momentarily. However, in between each song, the beep was back. And up the wall I drove. But don't worry, there is more to this story.
I finally managed to pull myself together long enough to make myself look half-way presentable for the day. And out I went for my journey of the day: buying books. I walk into the RSC to stop by the bank for some money. Lo, it was closed. Stink. I could venture to the public one down the street, but I am a creature of habit so that would be...SCARY. The bank lady on campus and I, we're tight. She knows my banking incompetence, and I think I may know about her secret love for the loan man. I see the way she looks at him, but don't worry, I'll never tell. Therefore, this proves my point: why would I ever want to venture to Woodlawn? My mom answered this question for me. I needed books.
So I ventured to the new bank. And this bank, my friends, it was beautiful. I felt unworthy. Don't get me wrong, the Bank of Protection is beautiful, too, but Commerce had a "the line starts here" sort of set up. It was a big deal, and I was in awe. I ran to the counter, and got some cash. Where to next? The beautiful book store. I, without the help of the workers, found all of my books. Talk about accomplishment, my friends. I'm a rather independent person, so asking for help isn't exactly something I enjoy doing. AND I DIDN'T HAVE TO! So what did I do? Rejoiced, obviously! A happy dance in the middle of the bookstore and a heel kick on the way out. Life is good.
It only makes sense that the next place I would go is Walmart. A little leftover cash was in hand, and I NEEDED some grub. So, this, my dear followers, is where my title comes in. Here's what I ended up with:
- Carrots
- Crunchy Peanut Butter (to go with the carrots, obviously)
- Bread
- Miracle Whip
- Ketchup
- Jelly
- Easy Mac (God's greatest gift to the college student)
- Animal Crackers
- Diet Pepsi (LOVE IN A CAN)
So no big, right? That seems like a pretty average list. But here's where it gets, well, cheesy. My list also included:
- Cubed Cheese
- Sliced Cheese
- String Cheese
- Cottage Cheese
Yes, four different kinds of cheeses. That's when it hit me--I'm truly, irrevocably, delightfully addicted to cheese. Though I've known it's been a passion of mine for many years, this trip to Walmart really sent me over the top. I am under the strong power of this delicious dairy. How will I fix this addiction? Ween myself off it slowly, gradually...perhaps. Or maybe, I will just envelop in the love of cheese. If a man showed up on my doorstep with a diet pepsi and some delicious cheeses (yes, skip the wine. I'll take the caffeine) I can confidently say, I would marry him on the spot.
So here is where I end. I don't believe it is necessary for me to close this blog in a proper manner, so the end we shall just throw out.
Over and out loves,
The Lone Woolf
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Let the blogging begin...
Hello Readers of My Imagination,
I only began the address like this because I am currently typing to no one. Not a soul. This makes it rather hard to address a blog. Despite the rough beginning, I've always been a fighter, so I will make it through. I am. I have. Take that for multiple tenses. Sick.
Now to my next point: the purpose of this blog. Really, it serves no purpose except to allow me to transfer my thoughts to readable text and maintain my passion of writing. Many of you may be asking, "Why not use a journal?" In order to answer this question, you must know this fact. My thoughts, they move at ridiculous speeds. I would venture to say they put the speed of light to shame. Since I can type about three times faster than I can write...hmm...perhaps five, actually, I thought I might as well begin a blog. In regards to the "passion of writing," well, once I made that lengthy conquest from high school to college, I realized I didn't HAVE to write. I soon found that I've missed having to write deeply. The answer to ponderation: a blog.
Second main point: beware of this blog. This blog will include these things:
Third and last main point: what shall I cover? This is very easy to answer, my sweet, sweet, cyber friends--everything. I will be discussing my life, my goals, my Jesus (yes, I'm one of those people), my desires, my fears, my family, my passions, my experiences, my adventures, etc. It will and shall ALL be discussed. In detail. With passion. Or humor.
Now for the farewell (side note: I hate these). Goodbye my currently imaginary, soon to be tangible, and hopefully high-fiveable friends. May you all live happy, lovely lives until I post again.
xoxo,
The Lone Woolf
I only began the address like this because I am currently typing to no one. Not a soul. This makes it rather hard to address a blog. Despite the rough beginning, I've always been a fighter, so I will make it through. I am. I have. Take that for multiple tenses. Sick.
Now to my next point: the purpose of this blog. Really, it serves no purpose except to allow me to transfer my thoughts to readable text and maintain my passion of writing. Many of you may be asking, "Why not use a journal?" In order to answer this question, you must know this fact. My thoughts, they move at ridiculous speeds. I would venture to say they put the speed of light to shame. Since I can type about three times faster than I can write...hmm...perhaps five, actually, I thought I might as well begin a blog. In regards to the "passion of writing," well, once I made that lengthy conquest from high school to college, I realized I didn't HAVE to write. I soon found that I've missed having to write deeply. The answer to ponderation: a blog.
Second main point: beware of this blog. This blog will include these things:
- Details: I use them excessively.
- Alliteration: I absolutely adore admirable alliteration. yeah, that much. =)
- Needles: due to the fact that I have diabetes.
- Jokes: I will, do, and forever shall crack them.
- High-fives: I give these frequently online, offline, you name it.
- Emotions: I have 'em. Like whoa
- Music: discuss, love, obsess. That's what I do to music.
- Lists: I love them. (yes, I'm using one now...ahhhhh.)
- Grammar: I like it, love it, live it.
Third and last main point: what shall I cover? This is very easy to answer, my sweet, sweet, cyber friends--everything. I will be discussing my life, my goals, my Jesus (yes, I'm one of those people), my desires, my fears, my family, my passions, my experiences, my adventures, etc. It will and shall ALL be discussed. In detail. With passion. Or humor.
Now for the farewell (side note: I hate these). Goodbye my currently imaginary, soon to be tangible, and hopefully high-fiveable friends. May you all live happy, lovely lives until I post again.
xoxo,
The Lone Woolf
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