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My heart is pounding, my skin feels like parchment paper, and it's my fault. I've been eating so poorly and haven't been taking my diabetes medication, or any of my medications for that matter. I don't see why this is so difficult. People make changes everyday in their lives and alter how they eat, how they think, how they take care of themselves and I can't seem to manage to give up desserts, pastas, or other carbs. I can't say no. I've never had will power though. I am not known for my ability to take a stand and stick with it.

I am wishy-washy. I change my mind. I am emotional and it effects everything I do. I eat because I am sad, because I am pmsing, because well frankly, a lot of times I can't think of anything better to do. :)

I don't know how to tell myself that I deserve to change for the better so that I don't end up in a coma, don't end up an amputee, blind, or any other complication because I decided that eating cake was a better choice.

I've applied for some new jobs. I intensely dislike the one I have, mostly for the sake of management. They are awful and seem to get great pleasure from punishing us. I don't quite understand their policy nor their attitude. They have one of the highest turn over rates I've ever seen. Over 75% of the people who work in our department have been there for less than eight months. Some of those in the top ten seniority levels have less than two years. I don't know why this is not seen as a problem. My employer must spend a fortune in training people.

I've been trying to finish one of my applications for grad school, however, I'm stuck on writing my academic and professional goals. What can I say? I want to do well in school and get a job when I am done that pays well. How do you write that in a minimum of 500 words or less. I used to be able to whip out essays like that in about five minutes. Now, I am struggling. I am afraid I have lost my touch. I am afraid I won't be able to get it back again if I do attend school once more. What if I can't write anymore?

My trip is coming up and I am trying to get everything ready for it. I have a few things I need to get done before I leave. I need to get an oil change, a haircut, get a bunch of stuff packed and ready to go, and I would like to surprise my boyfriend Wednesday night if I am all done with everything on time. But I think I shall be frantic Wednesday night and getting everything that I didn't get finished completed. If I don't get the chance to surprise him I shall be forced to wait two weeks to see him again and that's just not right. :)

I think I will keep a paper journal during my trip and then add those entries into here when I am back in cyberworld for all you to enjoy. ;)

An old story, hoping to invoke something creative in me

Sombrero wearing son of a bitch. What the hell that motherfucker thought he was doing, I don't know. But now I have to get up in the middle of the damn night and bail his ass out of jail. I am in my pajamas and wearing winter boots driving a 1985 station wagon to the county jail where he sits in a cell smiling like a monkey who just flung his own poo. Sure, he gets some on his own hands, but the satisfaction of hitting someone else with his own feces must be worth it. Soon as the phone jingled in the night, I knew, I just fucking knew it was going to be something like this.

I swear that man will be the death of me. Hell, I almost tripped on some dewy ice on the way to the car. It's that kind of winter warm where some of the ice on the surface has melted, but it's that kind of winter cool that doesn't allow the puddle of water to evaporate. I hate this car too. Tain't my car either. My car is wrapped around a light pole somewhere with vomit in the front seat. I was driving a friend home from some minor surgery last week and she just puked all over the inside of the car. Like a fucking tsunami of barf and she buried Tokyo. I couldn't stomach the sight, the smell, so I decided that hitting a pole was better. Anything to get out of that car, anything to get rid of that car. We said the vomiting occurred at the time of the accident. The tightening of the seatbelt against an upset tummy caused the tidal wave. My check is supposed to arrive next week. In the mean time, I have to drive his stupid ass car to the stupid ass county jail to pick up his stupid ass.

Why the hell he has to wear that hat anyway, I'll never know. It's ugly, it's stupid, and it smells funny. No one even knows where the hat came from. Hell, he could have swiped it from some passed out Spring Break kid who was lying in the street. Yeah, and those little snot monkeys are sanitary. Buncha disgusting, perverse, drunken idiots.

How long is this light? I swear it's never going to change. Finally! I am going to wring his neck when I see him. No. I am going to burn that hat. From now on, he's just going to be a son of a bitch.

I carefully walk through the parking lot, not wanting to fall on my ass and become all dirt, ice-water, slime encrusted and now I am waiting. This is pissing me off. Why call me if no one's going to be at the desk and if he's not ready. Oh, there's the ugly pig now coming back with coffee and oh, what's that? He's got a coffee in one hand and a jelly filled donut in the other that he's licking and flicking like it's a cunt. Fuck, dude, get a room. Shit, get a girl. Damn.

He asks if he can help me, his words muffled by the chunk of donut in his mouth, little bits of powdered sugar spray. I almost tell him that he can wipe his ugly ass mouth, finish chewing, and then ask me properly what he can do for me. But I just let it slide not in the mood to get into it with some copper before the sun even rises.

"I'm here to pick up my dad."