Forty weeks out from surgery, and here are the numbers I care about:
- Weight: 252
- Blood Sugar: 98
Half a pound down. Fuck it, it’s better than half a pound up. I almost didn’t weigh this morning because the days are just bleeding into each other here in week…six (maybe?) of quarantine. I’m eating sensibly and I’m exercising, but it’s getting difficult to stay motivated, and that’s before reading the news and the subsequent inevitable depression. Thank god I’ve got work to keep me somewhat grounded.
I’m happy. The blood sugar’s good, we’re still working on the house, blah blah blah. I want this shit to stop. I want to go back out and eat a meal with people. But I’m gonna keep sheltering in place because I’m not a narcissistic rube who thinks COVID-19 is a political hoax. I cannot fucking believe I’m able to point to people who are. So, happy, yeah, but also kinda angry. I think there might be a lot more to say about that, and about how seriously we don’t take our health in this country. Right now though, I’m gonna read a graphic novel because fuck it.
Here, have a graphic:
