Rumor has it that I have a blog, though one wouldn't think so from the frequency of the posts. (Thanksgiving?! I swear I didn't die of pumpkin pie, you diabeetus naysayers. I can eat what I want!)
But it's been a doozy of a time. We moved in January - no small feat with an 18-month-old running around, let alone one who has a healthy dislike of tape-gun sounds. After weeks and weeks of tortured hunting in the worst housing market I've ever seen in my 12 years in New York, we finally settled for a six-month lease in our favorite neighborhood...but in a fourth-floor walkup, and apparently in a building managed by a-holes and filled to the brim with jerkbag neighbors who bang on the wall in the middle of the night because a baby cries. (Simmer down, d-bags. You're not helping.) How much you guys want to bet we're moving again before the summer's over?
Then B went to the Super Bowl for work, which meant I was Solo Parenting in Box Tower City. Naturally, to increase the fun factor, both L and I came down with the plague and I had a jillion mind-meltingly aggravating catastrophes trying to get out landline hooked up. And did I mention it's a 400sq-foot fourth-floor walkup? Work's been crazy, no one is sleeping, the cats keep barfing, blah blah blah. Essentially, I've been busy and unable to sit down for 20 minutes to figure out what I can write that wasn't simply the boring, mundane minutiae of my day-to-day.
And tonight, as I guiltily thought of my poor, neglected space on the interwebs, I realized I write predominantly about diabetes. What is diabetes but boring, mundane minutiae? The zillionth finger stick for the trillionth bolus for the quamillionith counted carb, over and over and over every single day until I want to weep with boredom. I mean, c'mon. At least Sisyphus earned his eternal punishment! We PWDs got stuck with it through bad luck.
So consider me back on the ol' blog. I'll write about my boulder and my hill, and I'll read about yours, and we'll all commiserate and flip them the bird together.