|This felt as ugly as it looked.|
An uphill climb in more ways than one, of course. There's the very literal uphill of my Dexcom graph - I've seen more 300s in the past week than I have in quite some time, and every night seems to find me struggling to get my BG down to a respectable level before I go to bed. Unfortunately, "struggling" usually means "rage bolusing"...and then a nice blood sugar in the 50s (or lower!) in the wee hours of the morning.
Uphill also in terms of the effort required to get this - well, myself - under control. I don't eat real dinners unless it's one of B's nights off of work: if it's just me, I'm grazing for dinner and we all know grazing is synonymous with "dealing with hyperglycemia." And it's already Thursday and I've yet to log for the week. And I'm getting a solid 20 percent of my daily sleep on subway trains while commuting. And our house still isn't unpacked, still doesn't have anything on the walls. And my email inbox is 2 times the size it usually is. And I owe 347 people phone calls. And I haven't had my hair cut in months. And and and.
It's usually right about there in my spiral of panic that I feel so overwhelmed that I say "Fuck it" and go make popcorn for dinner. Which leads to a high blood sugar. And crappy sleep. And a late start for my commute and work day. Thus the "And and and" cycle begins anew.
I'm no stranger to pulling myself up by my bootstraps. I have, on countless occasions, grabbed myself by imaginary lapels and yelled "get ahold of yourself!" I can kick myself in the pants with the best of them...usually. But I've yet to find that gumption this time around, and I'm not sure where I'm going to dig it up.