Fifty nine weeks out from surgery, and here are the numbers I care about:
- Weight: 238
- Blood Sugar: 107
Up three pounds, which…fuuuuuuuuck.
Okay, honestly, I’ve already looked over the last week and the food intake was identical to previous weeks so there’s no “bad behavior” (I hate the weird morality we assign to eating) for me to point the finger at. I’m curious if I’m getting enough water for the current heat. I’m definitely not walking like I should be, but that’s a known quantity (my fucked up foot…I get the new shoes and inserts next week). I’m doing my best to just acknowledge where I’m at and see if there’s anything I can learn from that.
But, if I’m being equally honest, there’s a lot of negative self talk going on in my head right now. I’m doing my best to dismiss it.
Happy that the blood sugar is headed back down, especially in light of the fruit I’ve eaten in the last week (we had some amazing peaches here at the house…the kind you write epic poems about…not three fucking pounds worth of peaches but, you know, ten or so).
I’m happy good. Weirdly good given the numbers from this morning, and the ongoing nightmare of rising authoritarianism and white supremacy. But again, I have a shit ton of students I have to be present for so maybe that’s the distraction I desperately need at the moment.
Or maybe I’m just numb from the prolonged limbo of waiting for the election to be over. A limbo that’s more limbo-y because I’m waiting on a pair of fucking shoes. I usually hate when everyone starts talking about how terrible a year is, but 2020 is objectively terrible.
Either way, work or just numbness, I’m weirdly good this morning.
Here, have a graphic:
