Expuse Las Burbujas

Bubbles.  In Spanish, burbujas.  They make baths exciting.  Days in the park entertaining.  Hand washing extraordinary.  They make me pissed off.  They can ruin an entire day.  Can you believe it?  Weightless circles that pop?  Yep, they can make my numbers sky-rocket.  Burbujas are not the innocent, clear spheres you thought.

It’s all part of their master plan.  First they take out the diabetics.  The Graves’ disease-ers (not a word…  I get it).  Blind people.  Deaf people.  Babies with colic.  The lucky people with ABSOLUTELY NOTHING AT ALL.  We’re all going down.  Why?  The bubbles.

For diabetics, the spoiled type 1’s we are, bubbles can be the difference from a low number and a high one.  Here’s what they do:

They originate inside the Humalog bottle (a type of insulin), being birthed right there with my synthetic insulin.  They plan their attack as soon as they come out of the womb (whose womb?), and force themselves into the reservoir my mom is filling.  She fights them with all her might (someone told me she was feisty.  I wonder who), personally battling all of them by using brute force, pushing them back into the Humalog bottle.  Some get through, to the other side, power in numbers, and move on to Level 2 of their Seize the D’s (diabetics) attack plan.

Time to make their way to the bottom of the reservoir.  The place where they can hide from Mom, who tries to once again push them out onto a towel.  Dissolve into the paper.  What a gruesome, gory way to die.  Some of them luck out, move on to Level 3 where they can enter my pump.  They are so close to sealing their mission.  They can’t give up now.  Forward is the only way to go.

Once inside Lola, they make their way, slowly, stealthily, across my tubing.  (Um, interrupting here.  But, the tubing is clear.  It doesn’t matter how slow they move, I got my eye on them.)  Their mission: to enter the canula inside my body, at the end of the tubing, and block the insulin.  The insulin that is trying to get into my jelly.  The insulin that will prevent me from being high.  But if the bubbles take their place, then all I’m getting is air, no Frederick Grant Banting insulin for me (look it up!  http://www.nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/medicine/laureates/1923/banting-bio.html...  In short, he discovered insulin, won the Nobel Prize, and was knighted.  Pretty studly, huh?)

Not only do you know about their master plan, but also that they soak me in a Bubble Brain Bath.  They brain wash me to think that they’re not there, which explains why I never check to see if that’s the problem, why I’m high, even though they’ve been the problem a million times before.  It’s not my fault I forget, Mom.  It’s all the bubbles, Mom.   

In this battle, in this round of Seize the D’s, the bubbles won.  Today I was high, and waddya know?  There was a huge, honkin’, queen bee bubble in my tubing.  Great.  They seized me today.  But you know what?  I exposed them and their future attack on the world.  Expuse las burbujas. 

And I know you think I’m super studly with all the Espanol flying around on this blog, but I really just used Google Translate.  L  Shhhhh…  Don’t tell my readers…  I can’t let them find out I’m a fraud.

Ooops.  You just did.  Must be the Bubble Brain Bath.  Or the cheesy Disney films are making me crazy.  Place your bets.

What If...

What would our planet Earth be like if every person, every male and female, every dog and cat, every bird and worm, had diabetes?  I don’t know.  But here’s my guess:

Girls in love would leave behind the typical hair twirling.  Instead, they would pull out the tubing connected to their pump, and give it a good, old modern-day twirl.  Around and around and around, the tubing would be absent-mindedly wrapped around the finger of the one in love.  The boy is not sure if he loves the tubing twirler or the button-pusher (I’m not talking about a rule-bender…  I’m talking about a shy type 1 whose only way to cope with her nervousness about the boy she has a crush on is to push all the buttons on her pump).  Who will he pick?  How will he pick?  Ding.  The light bulb goes off and he realizes how he’s going to choose: whatever girl was fastest at filling up a reservoir (the insulin carrier inside of a pump).  And when he tells the tubing twirler that he chose her just because of her expert no-bubble reservoirs, she will squirt him in the eye with insulin.  She doesn’t want a guy who will just mooch off her skills.  Nope.  And when the guy tells the button-pusher that he chose her now, she just plainly slaps him in the face, old school.  She’s no one’s second choice.

 If the world was filled with type 1’s, friends would borrow alcohol wipes, test strips.  They would gossip about _____who has the biggest callus on her fingers than anyone in the school.  Oh how all the girls look up to _____, the girl with the calluses.  Everyone wishes they were her.

Mornings would be hectic, site changes being completed, pre-boluses performed.  Medical IDs would be the new status symbol.  Dates would consist of eating dinner at a fancy restaurant, giving each other a shot.  Romantic?  Totally.

And hopefully if everyone in the world had diabetes, a cure would be number 1 priority in scientists’ minds.  But who knows?  There still would be life-threatening diseases in the world.  The good thing about diabetes is it’s not a death sentence anymore.  Phew.  Because if that was the case, then there would be no Erin to type up this blog, or any others for that matter.  Wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we? J

Splat Goes Erin

Ow.  After a big fall, after flying through the air, after landing on hard, freshly cut grass, ow was all I could say.  And I tried not to cry, hold back the tears, as a big sting shot through my body and paused at the two hurting spots.  My left elbow and hip.  Ow.

The hip injury hurts the most, just stinging, but really it is nothing big.  Just one of those rug (or grass) burns that scream pain.  It was a scrimmage my coach put together at the end of our practice with the Plus team (the more elite team of our league [elite this year meaning anyone who tried out because not enough players wanted it]).  They are a bruiser team, one that is very pushy, shovey, and trippy.  We started the game and not long after I was on a fast break.  Then…  splat.  I was tripped.  By one of my friends on the foe team.  It was not her fault at all.  She didn’t do it on purpose.  But it hurt like (insert word of your choice).  And it took a lot of strength for me to not cry, because I was in, well, some pain.  I barely did though, which I’m proud of.  I need to seem strong on the outside.  This is the part where I’m supposed to say that the reason I found the strength to get back up was to be a leader for my team.  Be the tough one.  Well, I will tell you that I only did it because I have a reputation (that doesn’t exist).  And I certainly could not tarnish that (invisible rep) by being sprawled out on the grass crying my eyes out.  Nope.  Got to look cool (never going to happen…  Really no desire).

And then we lost.  2-0.  I really wanted to beat that team, more than any other team that’s out there.  That’s because I was on the Plus team, I could’ve been on it again.  But I chose not to try out again because I wasn’t entirely thrilled with the coach.  I guess I just wanted to beat them to ensure my decision.  But I’m pretty sure I did the right thing.  My new coach is super nice, the girls are just as sweet, and I just plainly love playing soccer.  And that’s just it.  It doesn’t matter what team I’m on, what girls I’m playing with, I’m just happy to be doing the sport I love.  That totally sounded like it was cut right out of a cheesy Disney film.  Eh, what can I say?  Cheesy Disney films are my specialty.

A Soccer Day Equation

About 90 degrees this afternoon.

Plus.

2:00 to 4:50 soccer day.

Equals.

A tired girl. 

That girl was me today, a girl who played lots and lots of soccer today.  But don’t think I didn’t have fun.  I had lots of fun.  I heart my sport, my soccer.

All it was supposed to be today was an hour scrimmage against one of the teams in my league.  It was a scrimmage that was to help new referees learn what to do and how to call the game right.  Well there was a problem.  The team we were supposed to be playing were a no-show.  My coach told us the news as soon as he got there, and said he’d hope some of the other teams would show up early so that we could play them.  When the other team doesn’t show up, you assume that your team would be playing a lesser amount of time than usual.  But that was not the case.

We started playing just a 7 versus 7 scrimmage by splitting up our team, and adding two players not on our team (one of them my sister).  That game my team lost, a game that I believe was 2-0.  But it was so hard playing with only one other forward to pass with.  So I didn’t really count that as anything because it was so far off from a real game.

Finally, though, another team showed up, and we were allowed to really work together again.  I don’t like when my own team is the enemy I’m supposed to just smash into smitherines.  That’s not good.  But when you’re playing complete strangers, I have no problem dominating them.

And it was so much easier to because playing with only 6 other players is tiring, especially in the heat.  But if yous gots mores peoples on yours team, then all you need to play is your position.  Gets its?

After yours truly and another teammate scored a goal, the game came to an end at 2-0.  Did we crush them?  Yes.  To smitherines?  Not really, but we won.  A quick cheer and round of “good game”s went by, when my coach asked if anyone wanted to stay and play for another team who was in need for players.  I was fast to raise my hand.  I was so ready to play some more, since I didn’t even want my scrimmage with my own team to end.  And in that game…

Wait for it…

I got another goal.  Woohoo!  A girl crossed the ball to the center, to the perfect spot, and I somehow managed to get it past the goalie.  It wasn’t a very pretty goal, nothing to write home about, like my gymnastics coach always says, but it was a goal nonetheless.  And it was the only goal of the entire game.  And I wasn’t even playing with my own team.  And it was my second game in the desert-feeling heat.  Yeah, pretty much nailed it. J

It’s even more impressive that I played good in that game because one of the girls on the team I was playing with…  Well let’s just say that we have a little beef with the man she calls daddy.

The girl, the teammate, she’s really sweet, nice, and a pretty good player.  Her mother is a nice and funny woman, who was never on my bad side.  But her dad, her dad’s the big promblemo.

Let’s just start with one of the practices he was helping out with.  Shots on the goal, or something like that, was the focus of the drill we were doing.  It was so long ago I can’t remember exactly what it is he said to me, but it pissed me off.  This next part though, I remember clear as water.

I kicked the ball hard in the goal because, I don’t know, I was pissed, which should be a good thing, that I took my anger out on the ball, making it an even better shot.  But no, not to him.

“Anger issues,” this forty year old man tells an 11 year old at the time.  Can you believe that that was a grown-up talking.  I sure didn’t and still don’t today.  What a weirdo.

Then, to make my lovely opinion of him even more lovely, he decided to bribe us kids on the team with quarters.  When he decided who played the best for all four “quarters” of the game, he gave them change.  The only way, according to Problemo here, to get the team to play well, is to give them money.  That may work for some kids, but not for me.

But here’s the part that made Problemo, such a big darn problemo.  I just walked over to the side of the field during the water break when he attacked me like a vulture, telling me everything I was doing wrong in the game, what I needed to do better.  Not the right time.  It was the time I was trying to test my blood sugar, while simultaneously listening to him drone on and on about how terrible I was playing, according to him.  Well I was just a little bit busy trying to test my blood sugar, hook up Lola to my site, and give insulin.  And my site was in my bottom, meaning that I had to somehow connect it without, um, flashing everybody.  Awkward!

“Can you not do this now?” my mom asked him, her voice a little sharp, as she could tell I was struggling.  Take that, Problemo!  I got my feisty mommy taking you down!

But he wasn’t ready to back down, and instead, randomly, fired back, “I’m done with your family!”

What the heck, man.  I mean seriously.  What have we ever done to you?  Ugh.  I guess there’s just no rationale to it.  He’s just a messed up old man who, to my content, has gained quite a few pounds that I noticed today when I saw him.  What joy I found in that.  Aww, that’s mean.  I have to be the bigger person even though he’s about 6 feet tall.  I hope he lives his life without regret, even though I could think of a few for him.  Best wishes to him and his family.  J  Have a great life, Problemo!

Another One of Those Days

*Pouty face*

*Tired face*

*Crinkled forehead*

I had a major headache today, off and on.  Currently it is nowhere to be found.  Thank goodness.  But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t very much so present around four this afternoon.  I hate headaches, and surprisingly, luckily, haven’t had one in quite a long time.  But it’s gone now.  Let’s make these next couple of minutes count.  J  Phew.

I think it’s the heat.  It’s been hot like (insert bad word) here, which always seems to give me a head pain.  I always thought that really stunk, that I could never really enjoy the nice weather because my head was giving me issues.  But my brain didn’t give me so much pain that I couldn’t be super witty tonight (if I do say so myself.  Which I just did!).  At the super market, I was constantly quoting my favorite movie Grown Ups to my dad, who is also a big fan. 

“I can’t believe you just stole you’re daughter’s canoli from Vigillio’s!” I yelled, quoting one of my favorite lines.  “It’s from Vigillio’s.  Leave me alone, woman!”

Then, as we were unloading the groceries, I saw Red Vines stuffed in one of the bags.

“Dad, are you trying to hide these from me?”  Me, a HUGE Red Vine lover.  “You were caught red vined.”  Get it?  Like red handed?  Yep, pretty witty, huh?

I’m so proud of myself.  You are too.  I know.  Words can’t even explain how much you think I should be a comedian.  And if you have absolutely no words about that, that you think nothing at all about my future, nonexistent career in the comedy world, then keep it to yourself.

“So long, partner,” from Toy Story.  There I go!  And once again, if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. J

Dirty Feet

Summer’s amazing.  Days filled with nothing but…  Um…  Nothing.  Relaxation to the next level.  You can go to bed whenever to feel like it, sleep in until lunch (which I’ve never done).  You can do whatever you want, anything you desire.  But even summer has its downfalls.

#1:  Dirty feet.  Ugh.  I hate it.  You typically wear flip flops in the summer, no socks.  All that means is that your feet are covered with black dirt (okay, not really black…  That’s a bit of an exaggeration).  I’m constantly thrusting a paper towel underneath the sink, rubbing it on the soles of my feet.  In the school year, I typically wear my converse.  I wear my sandals a lot in the fall and spring, but never in the winter.  My feet would get numb in a second.  I get cold very easily.

Numero dos:  It’s too short.  We need another month.  3 months is not enough time to recharge your brain from school, not enough time to do absolutely nothing.  And if you do fun things every day, it’s even shorter.  And if you think about it, summer is not even three months.  More like 2 and half…ish.  (Pouty face)  I’m not ready for school time, not one bit.  But you can’t stop time.  Who knows what I’d do if I could halt the days as they go by.

Letter C:  Summer has absolutely zippo organization.  Sometimes that’s a good thing, but overall, it’s nice to know what time you’re waking up, what time you’re leaving for school, what time you’re putting your head on the pillow to sleep at night.  It’s also good to know what day of the week it is, which is something I never know in July and August.  It helps to have some kind of idea what the date is…  Just something that may be important, just maybe. J

But you know what good comes out of school?  Stories.  Entertaining stories that will give this blog some uuummpphh.  Some fun stories about ignorant, mean, no-thinking-before-speaking people.  But there will be some good stories too.  There always are, they are just not as fun to write about. J

I remember in fourth grade this super nice girl asked me how I did it.  Kept up the good grades with my diabetes.  It was really nice, really refreshing to hear something like that.  I mean, I don’t want pity from other LUCKIER people (just kidding!), but sometimes it’s cool just to be recognized for all the crap I have to deal with.  As I’m getting older, I’m getting more frustrated.  Every time there’s a high number, I get just so dang angry.  I hate doing site changes (not sure anyone would J), and having to figure out the carbs of the food before I eat it.  I can’t just grab a couple crackers whenever I feel like it, can’t just eat some grapes because I feel like it.  I have to test my blood sugar, bolus for it, and then eat it.  And if I’m high, like I was today, I either have to choose not to have it at all or choose something a little lower carb.  But I’m not just here to complain…  Or maybe I am…  Your call.

There have been plenty others of good stories in my diabetic “career”.  The bad just stand out, like in anything.  You barely remember your heartwarming memories.  Sad, huh?  That’s just how our brain works.  So we all just have to deal with it.  Stinks, huh?

Ignorance Bites

“Ohhhhhhhhh,” the ignorant boy/girl/man/woman draws out the word.  “You have the bad kind,” they say, a scrunched up, disgusted look on their face.

“I feel so bad for you.  You poor thing,” another boy/girl/man/woman/dog/cat/ferret would say.  Their eyes telling me the only reason they even brought it up: to be able to sleep at night, thinking they did good in their life.

“You use… the pump?” a look like there is something bitter in their mouth displayed on their face.  “You know that’s cheating, right?  Using the pump?”

“Three adult menus and one kid’s?” the server says with a condescending tone in their voice.  It’s not like there’s a 13 year old standing in front of them.  Nope.  Just a little kid, instead of a short teenager.  I guess this is off the diabetic topic, but still something that enrages me.

All of these ignorant, off-based words are so hurtful.  All of them have been told directly to me, or to my mom.  And I’m sure there have been plenty behind my back.  Ignorance is so annoying, and it comes to play in anything, any disease you may have.  All of them.

One of these comments, the “Pump…  Cheating…  Oh…” one, was from a referee in a soccer game of mine.  She is also the woman who, at my sister’s 8^th grade awards night, undermined her “Principal’s Award”.  This award is given to only two students, boy and girl, out of the entire 8^th grade class, almost 800 kids.  And the female version was given to my sister.  And according to this idiot woman, Jessica only received it because, basically, she kissed all the teacher’s butts.  Which was not true, and only said because well, her daughter received only one, tiny little award.  Poor thing.

All the other comments were said to me so many times.  Ugh.  And the kids menu thing?  Gosh, it makes me so angry.  Can ruin my entire meal, just because some stupid little waiter thinks I’m a first grader.  Can I help it that I grew 1.78 centimeters in a year (my mom just told me I’m obsessed with that number.  Sadly, I am)?  I’m so pissed right now, I’m putting an obscene amount of pressure on the keys.  Now I’m clenching fists in a tight, white ball.  So annoyed.

It happens all the time.  And used to not bug me as much.  But now, kills me.  Absolutely makes me die with anger.  I’ve got to go now, too heated up.  Toodles, my blaudience, blog-audience!  It’s so cool I made that up, like right now.  That’s just how I roll.

Par-tay Time

I can’t even begin to tell you how amazing last night was.  The Taylor Swift concert was absolutely awesome.  Covergirl samples and coupons were being given out at every corner.  I even received a random bracelet with the words, “Lights Over Paris” on it as we were waiting outside to be let in.  I will go into all the detail about what happened at the concert a little bit later.  But let’s just start on the ride over.

The car ride should have been 2 hours.  It should have been long and grueling.  It should have been endless.  But it was the exact opposite.  It was an hour long that felt like 20 minutes.  Listening to Taylor Swift in the background, I played Go Fish! and Crazy Eights (which was over within two minutes because Erin Marie here is a Crazy Eights whiz).  Before I knew it, the arena popped up into view, making me super anxious.  That was also about the time I felt low and popped a glucose tab.  Something about long car rides.  They always make my numbers drop.  I have no clue as to why.

After donating some money to a charity, taking the “Lights Over Paris” bracelet, and happily grabbing a free Covergirl lipstick tube, we finally could go inside.  Where I felt low once again.  I just took a glucose tab and continued on with our exploration.  After eating a hot dog at our seats, we milled around, surveying the Covergirl makeup stations, the picture boards of Taylor Swift (which all gave a clear view of Taylor’s armpit…  Weird thing to notice, but it was hard not to when you were supposed to stand there for a picture).

We then stopped at a Wetzel’s Pretzels stand and I ate the best soft pretzel I’ve ever had.  So delicious this big, old thing was.  Yum.

After my belly was satisfied, my young teenage mind was ready for the loud music performed live by Taylor herself.  What an amazing performer she is.  And I didn’t just see Taylor Swift.  I also saw…

Wait for it.

Almost there.

Be patient.

……….

Justin Bieber.

But sorry, for the Beliebers out there (something I wish I made up but didn’t L), I don’t like Justin Bieber.  Lo siento.  But the night was amazing anyway, and there’s just no other way to explain it.

Wish me luck for my school picture tomorrow!  Thanks!

The 50th Missed

How did this happen?  How could I let this happen?  I knew it was coming.  I knew my fiftieth blog post was coming soon, but still I missed it.  Completely watched it go by.  This is two posts after the big five-oh, and I will never forgive myself.  Oops.  I just did.

I was going to do something special on the fiftieth, but two things happened.  Number 1, I forgot (the whole point of everything you just read).  Number 2, I had no clue what “special” thing I was going to do.  I still don’t know.  Let me think a second…

Still thinking.

………

The wheels are turning.

………

Almost there.

………

Got it.

I am going to eat my lunch. 

Oh darn.  That doesn’t devote anything to this blog, nothing to you.  Shoot.  I really thought that was going to work.  Ugh.  Back to thinking.

Just kidding!  No time to think because moi has to get ready for moi’s concert tonight.  I’m so excited to see Taylor Swift, not only because it’s my first concert, but also because I learned all of her songs (exaggeration.  Not all of them).

But that does mean that I can’t do anything special today.  I am pondering over two outfit choices.  Two!  Whoa there.  Time to decide and time to say goodbye!

Psycho Puppy

Don’t buy any of what Lucy said last night.  How did she even type that up?  With her paws?  Not happening.  How did she even have the time to type that up?  All night she is “psycho puppy” where she flings her toys around, hitting us in the face, grabbing our arms with her paws, with her strong death grip.  And when she gets tired of that, she sleeps, for the rest of the night.  We all jump for joy when that finally happens.  Like right now.

I’m going to talk, vent to be specific, about all the times Lucy killed the privacy that I used to have.  My broken door can be opened just by merely pushing it, something Lucy has discovered and taken advantage of.  My crazy little dog opens the door whenever she feels like it.  It doesn’t matter if I’m changing, working, or sleeping.  Lucy comes on in.  I do have to say that I think it’s cute.  Kind of flattering that I’m the one she wants to play with, even though I’m sleeping at the time.  Half frustrating.  Half adorable.

Okay, now this little thing that Lucy does I will tell you about now, I cannot take.  Again, it can be really cute, except when it gets to the point that she starts hurting me.  Every time I sit down on the floor, to wii, to watch TV, and there is a ponytail hanging out of my hair, Lucy is there.  Lucy is there to take it out.  And do absolutely anything, anything, even pull my hair out, to get to the rubber band.  And once she does get to the band, she runs away with it, down the stairs, waiting for me to come and chase her.  Ugh.  I hate that part, because I have to go get it.  I don’t just get it because, well, it’s my rubber band.  But also, because she could choke on it.  Which would not be good.

I do really love my Lucy.  She’s such a little cutie, and all of these little crazy things she does, are part of her charm.  She’s such a good dog, her quirks and all.  Right now she’s cuddling with my mom, looking so precious.  What would I do without my Lucy?  I truly do not know, other than the fact that my life would be so boring.  For sure.  No doubt.

My Side, the Real Side, of the Story

My fault?  That’s what my big sister, my litter mate Erin, said on this blog?  No way.  It was all her.  And I, a 12 pound proud black schnoodle, plan to prove this to you right here, right now. 

It all started when Erin just had to take my water.  It is deliciously flavored with grape, something I love.  Erin knows I have a serious passion for these “special waters”, which is why it is just so vain that she would purposefully drink one in front of me.  I mean, can you believe it?  Can you believe that my own sister, the girl who I grew up right next to, would taunt me like that just because she has opposable thumbs?  You may not believe it because she acts all sweet and innocent on this blog, but let me tell you.  There is nothing sweet and innocent about my sister.

What did she expect me to do anyway?  She dropped a perfectly good bottle cap on the ground.  Was I just supposed to sit there and wait while she bends down and grabs it, out of my reach. Noooooo.  I’m supposed to take it and run off with it dangling out of my mouth.  That’s what dogs like me do.  It’s in the rule book, at least I think it is.  I can’t read.

This was how she punished me...  Embarrassing...

After I snatched it up, I dashed off down the stairs, which is the best part.  The part where Erin chases me.  That’s all she’s really good for anyway, chasing me, playing with me, tossing my ball around. 

When I heard a big grunt, and heard Erin wail, “LUCY!”, I figured it was safer for me to stay downstairs, where Daddy was trying to get the cap out of my mouth.  I didn’t budge it open one bit, even when Dad tried to pry my mouth open.

“Whaddya got there, Lucy?” he said to me, but since I’m, um, a dog, I couldn’t answer.  And if I opened my mouth to bark at him, the cap would fall out.  Quite the dilemma, the conundrum (I stole that word from Erin…  I guess she’s useful for something else.)

“The darn dog stole the cap to my water bottle and it spilled everywhere!  Ugh,” Erin growled from upstairs.  I knew I really didn’t want to go up there now.  All I wanted was some of that wonderful water.  And my plan was perfect because no one really got mad at me, and when I finally got the nerve to waltz back upstairs, the chair and carpet smelled amazing.  Amazing!  I need to try this more often…

Oh crap.  Erin’s coming.  Got to get off the computer.  And by the way, don’t tell her I exposed her on her own blog.  Wow.  I sound really powerful and impressive now.  Go Lucy.

We All Just Love Cleaning, Don't We?

Today was a cleaning day.  A day where my dad mows the lawn, my mom scrubs the bathroom, my sister and I vacuum and mop upstairs and downstairs.  A cleaning day.  Pretty self-explanatory.

Every weekend we clean.  Do you know why we clean almost every weekend?  Because dirt never takes a break.  Dust never sleeps.  There is always something you can do around the house to make it look nicer.  Clean the blinds.  Dust the elliptical.  Spray the mirrors.  Vacuum the rug.  Hmmm…  What else?  I’m sure I could think of a list over twenty with things to do.  So much.

Today, I dusted the whole downstairs, my room, my parents room and the loft.  After a hard-working morning consisting of wiping off the black disgusting particles on every freaking piece of furniture (exaggeration) , I let myself relax and do some yoga…  On the wii!  Wii Fit to be exact.  It was super fun and relaxing.  I was pretty good and was apparently at the level of a “Yoga Trainer” on some of the poses.  I’ve never done yoga before today, on the wii, or in a class.  I always thought I’d like it.  And well… I did!

After my break, I vacuumed the carpet upstairs.  That is one big workout.  I mean, that gets sweat pouring down my face, that gets me to feeling like it’s 100 degrees in our cool 70 degree house (exaggeration).  And that’s not even accounting for the drop it causes to my numbers.  I had, what I call, a “bum” site.  This bum site was, well, called a bum site because a thin stream of blood was in the canula (the little plasticky tube that is lodged into my body).  With blood in there, there’s no room for the insulin to flow through.  I think I would’ve been real high today if it weren’t for the cleaning.  Brings my numbers right on down, until I stopped, showered, and had to do a site change.

So you’d think that after all the hard-work my family put into the house today, that I would not want to, I don’t know, DIRTY IT UP!  But I did.  Great job, Erin.

But it wasn’t entirely my fault.  Lucy was the big culprit.  Here’s what happened:

I just sat down at the computer, flavored water bottle in hand, to blog.  Lucy LOVES “special water”, which is what we call the Aquafina FlavorSplash bottles. I will set one on the ground and she will start licking the outside, trying to get some of the Grape flavor into her own mouth.  It makes sense that when I dropped the cap onto the ground, that she would grab it in her tiny mouth and run away with it.  Shoot, I thought. Now I have to go chase her.  And just as I sat up to run after her, my arm flung across the open, capless bottle.  Gravity did the rest, spraying the water all over the chair next to me, the desk it was resting on, the carpet, the trash can.  Ugh. Why now?  Why today?, I mumbled to myself.  You can bet that I was mad.  Mad, mad, mad at my black, 12-pound schnoodle.

Zippo Sleep.........AGAIN!

Another sleepless night.  2:30 this morning was the time my body finally allowed itself to fall asleep.  Terrible night.  A terrible night that has made me extremely cranky today.  Something I’m sure my family can attest to.  But I won’t let them…  Because that would make me look bad on this site…  Wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?

A half hour into my “sleep” (sleep is in quotes because, well, I didn’t), I could already tell that it was going to be one long night.  I mean what is seriously going on with me.  I’m finding bugs, specifically spiders and bees, everywhere I turn, every shampoo bottle I move, every bed I untuck.  I can’t go to sleep until the sun starts to rise, making me almost unbearable to deal with the next day.  It’s like the sleepover I’ve never had.  Even though I am lacking experience with those, I have to believe the sleepover is much more fun.  It’s a lot more exciting staying up late when you’re with other people.

That’s the part I hate the most.  Every night that I can’t sleep, I feel so lonely.  It sucks.  I try so hard to fall asleep, there’s no way I could ever actually do it.  I hate it, despise it, wish that as soon as my head hit the pillow I would just doze off.  But that doesn’t happen.  Not at all.

I read a little bit using my booklight, which calmed me down.  That’s always part of my problem.  I start getting frustrated and annoyed.  And when that happens, it’s going to be a long time until I dream.

Erin Marie Transformed--Now Kanye West

Run-over.  Bulldozed.  Completely pummeled by the new school year.  Terrible, absolutely terrible.  This afternoon, I had to go to my school and pick up the registration packets.  It wasn’t a long line, not at all.  It took a mere five minutes (and four of them were spent listening to the person in front of me asking question upon question upon question.  No offense, but how much does a parent volunteer really know.  I wouldn’t guess a whole lot).  The whole wait, I was thinking of my eighth grade year ahead of me.  To my left, I saw my homeroom from last year.  It is real sad to think that the summer is almost gone.  Vanishing like the cute girl in a magic trick.  Wiped clean from my life like letters on a white board.  Oh shoot, I just said white board.  You know what that reminds me of?  Yep, you got it.  School.

Today I was flipping through my yearbook, and became overcome with sadness.  I read through all of my signatures, and wished it was the end of the year again.  The end of the year is such a happy time, a joyous time where all the people you know, all the friends you made write in their signatures.  I love it.  But I have quite some time until I get to do that again.  What a shame.

It is absolutely ridiculous that my short, not even 5 feet self will be going to HIGH SCHOOL in ONE year.  I can’t even wrap my head around it, it’s so insane.  I thought middle school was a big step but high school is huge.  The biggest step I’ve taken in my life so far.  But let’s just focus on my summer and what’s left of it.  Much better topic.

On Tuesday, I am going to a Taylor Swift concert.  I am so excited!  I’ve been to a few mini concerts, but I can’t remember them.  I was too little. I do recall a little bit of an Aaron Carter concert, but not much.  I’m crazy excited to see Taylor.

As soon as I get there, the claws are coming out.  I will elbow, push, shove, punch, kick, and scratch, do anything possible, to get to the front where Taylor Swift will be singing.  Anything.  I will even pull out my pepper spray.  Pepper spray.  Crazy, right?  Yep, it is.  But I don’t care.

Once I get to the front, a bee will not land right plop on my nose.  Instead a butterfly will flutter near my eyes.  Assuring me of what it is I have to do.  I have to jump up onto the stage and do what it is I was meant for: meet Taylor Swift and upstage her with my beautiful voice (which always seems to be hiding…  Huh.  You might start to think that I don’t even have a beautiful voice…  Weird).  I’m going to be like Kanye West and kick her off the stage.  And even when the security guards march towards me and try to carry me off, I will fight them and take Kanye’s crazy charade one step further.  And just when Taylor herself is trying to steal back the microphone, I am going to disconnect my site, push a couple of buttons on Lola and spray insulin right into her eye.  Yeah, pretty skilled, huh?  That’s what I thought.

Now hopefully you realize that none of this is really going to happen.  That would be so wicked if I had the strength to do that, let alone the nerve.  But it’s really going to be a fun day.  And I cannot wait.

Oh and by the way, I did not dream about bees last night!  But I did have nightmares about spiders.  I found another one right by my bed as I was getting ready.  Sure was pleasant.  Yep, real nice.

Bees, Bad Blood Sugars and Bears--Oh My!

Today I was not attacked by a shark on my run, no Jaws music needed this morning.  I was free of stray mountain lions creeping up behind me, prowling around for a breakfast.  No banana peels left in my way to slip on.  Nothing of that sort was part of my problem today.  Instead, my blood sugar numbers flip flopped from high to low, ALL DAY.  It was so annoying, waking up in the morning high, ending the afternoon low.  But that wasn’t all.  I was also scared by bees on my run.  Very, very scared.

Let’s start from the beginning of today.  This morning I woke up, at 8:00 instead of 7, ready to run.  I descended down the stairs, still in my PJ’s, still a little groggy.  You can imagine my annoyance, my frustration, when my darn diabetes gave me a 254 blood glucose.  With a number like the one I had, it was time to tie up my shoes and head out the door.  Before I did though, my mom and I did a site change, ridding my body of the old one that apparently was done with working.  Gosh, wouldn’t that be so nice?  To live a grand ole life not having to work, only dusting off your briefcase when you want to?  Sounds to me that everything involved with type 1 has that luxury: my sites, my pancreas, all of it.  And it is so frustrating.

Out the door we went, my mom, sister and I.  Thank goodness my sister started the run with us.  I couldn’t have taken another Jaws horror story.  But I did have a Killer Bees horror story (I will admit that I just looked up that movie right now…  I’ve never even heard of it before…  But it looks super creepy!).  As I was climbing the second hill, a long but semi-gentle slope, I noticed lots of bees crowding around the untrimmed bushes.  These bushes needed cutting.  They stretched out all the way to the part of the sidewalk where I was running, making me have to brush by them, and the bees.  I was growing sick of constantly being poked by the out-growing plantation.  Because of this, I whacked my arm, with all my might, right on the bush next to me.  A hard slam.  A slam to which made all the bees angry.  But I was ready for them.

I started punching them with my bare fists, smacking them down one by one.  When a little runt bee landed on my hand I squashed him like a grape with my fingers.  Easy.  But then the queen bee flew forward, right into my face, like she was trying to intimidate me with her overgrown butt.  It wasn’t going to work on me.

She started vibrating her stinger, revving it up like a racecar ready to win.  But she wasn’t going to win.  I was.  I pulled the tubing out of my pump, disconnected it from my new site, and swung it around like a lasso.  Then, I-----

Low Blood Sugar!

Just kidding!  None of that happened!  All that happened in my Killer Bees experience was that a bee landed plop right on my nose.  No stinging, no biting (do bees bite?).  Nothing but a landing and a takeoff.  It was really strange though, because the bee felt wet on my schnauzola when it landed.  But when I touched the place after it left, it felt dry as usual.  Strange.

High Blood Sugar!

So other than my traumatic experience with the bee, my day was pretty normal.  Relaxing on the couch, playing wii.  The usual.  The only other thing weird was that after my SECOND site change in ONE day, I was low.  I must’ve had like 20 glucose tabs and 40 smarties today.  Quite the low day, which is very annoying since I started high and had to take a 13 millimeter shot not once, but twice.  Very, very frustrating.  You never know what surprises might come your way when you’re a type 1.  They always sneak-attack you. 

Darn.  Now I’m real itchy thinking about that bee.  Ugh.  I hope I can have bee-free dreams tonight.  Hope with me I won’t.  Hope with me, please.