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I'm skipping the letter L - in favor of my very late Raise Your Voice post. Even later than I thought - because of technical difficulties... (Thank you, K) My voice still counts, I hope.
The countless days of senseless whirling
Numbers chugging, dancing in my head
Reminding me of their import
The unending barrage of needles and blood
And of damage and fear
Reminding me of my body's most drastic flaw
The every day of it
The every night of it
The demands
The requirements
The relentless, all-consuming weight of it
The wishing it was different - I was different
And the realization that you play the cards you're dealt
I watch, most days silent, as it destroys people I love.
This beast.
And I wonder how many healthful, strong days remain for me.
I look into eyes so like my own
Mirrors reflecting the days behind - the mistakes
And the days ahead? - For me?
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I have found that, for some seemingly strange reason, I have become more discreet lately about who I choose to reveal myself to.
I don't normally keep my diabetes
hidden, as I've written about several times. But in the last week or so I've realized that while I don't mind shooting up in public, others might mind seeing me. That, and I often feel like I just don't want to talk about it; just eat my meal and be done with it. Not to mention that sometimes I just want to be a normal person and not a teacher.
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Singers are very passionate people and a lot of times the power behind their voices comes from the struggles that they have encountered in life. This was definitely the way I felt as I watched Elliott Yamin put on a passionate and heart-felt show here in Columbia Tuesday night.
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If life is in fact a series of actions and consequences (and good Lord, I hope it isn't), then the fact that I eventually developed type 2 diabetes (known affectionately around the Rummel-Hudson compound as "the Beedies") is about as mysterious as why it gradually gets lighter outside at roughly the same time each morning. (
"Did someone install stadium lights out there? Lets investigate. Oh, look, the sun...")
In college, I lived a life of excess. Despite the fact that I also drank way more than I should have, the main culprit was food. Glorious, wonderful food. I live in Texas, so take those food items and deep fry them. (To this day, the idea of chicken fried steak repulses my northern friends, and yet just now, when I typed those three lovely words, I got a little slobbery.) I drank too much soda, I ate too much crap, and if something green ever went past my lips, it was probably an M&M.
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