In one of my high school English classes, we had to read Samuel Beckett's play of this name. Thirty-some-odd years later, I don't remember the details, only that it centered around two men who seemed to be relatively old, penniless, and alone. They met at a particular spot each day, left each evening, and could only remember one day past and think towards one day forward. They awaited a third character, the eponymously named "Godot", who never arrived. The style was considered existentialist in that there wasn't all that much character development: what you saw was what you got. While I never read the French original, in English, "Godot" seemed a thinly-veiled metaphor for "G-d" — and since old, penniless (and possibly homeless) folk have always had the shortest from-this-point life expectancy, it made sense — at least on one level — that these two characters were waiting to die.

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On Tuesday, Brian Bosh (@bosh) tweeted, "Do you (as a #diabetic) avoid publicly announcing extreme blood sugars for fear of discrimination regarding future coverage? #bgnow private."

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There's an old adage that says success is "one part inspiration, nine parts perspiration". We tend to see only the first part -- the results, the glitzy façade. Except at the finish line of a race -- whether that be marathon, triathlon, bicycle race, or horse race -- all hints of the perspiration (or let's face it, sweat) are carefully hidden.

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It's been one week since The Mr. had gastric bypass and he's doing really well. He rode his motorcycle the more than 20 miles to his firs post-op nutrition class yesterday! (Don't worry, it's not a crotch-rocket-type motorcycle.)

Since he has developed insulin resistance -- and also because it's apparently protocal after gastric bypass -- The Mr. has been checking his blood sugar four times a day: fasting, before lunch and dinner, and at bedtime.

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There was a time when The Mr. and I could wear the same size pants. In fact, he put on a pair of my jeans one day and though they fit it didn't take him long to realize why they didn't feel right.

I thought we were heavy then. I'd love to be back in that size jeans. That was before kids. That was before 12 years of marriage. That was a long time ago.

When I look back 15 years ago at pictures of us I think about how skinny we looked. And though I didn't see it then, we were; especially compared to how we look now.

The Mr. has been contemplating weight loss surgery for years. We talked about it casually. We knew people who went through it. We knew the fantastic results. We knew it was a tough road.

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Sometimes, as strangers walk by, you hear just a word or two that raises your antenna. When I commuted to New York City for a short time, I collected these words as people darted passed me on crowded streets. I jotted down what I heard in a journal, wondering how bits of random people’s conversations would sound if merged together. It was sort of interesting.

It may have been something like:

Chicago at 4:20. I'm going to get a second opinion. That bitch betta not be there. God bless.

At the ice skating rink on Saturday, I was taking off Ben’s skates when two lanky teenage boys and two girls walked by.

"Wait," one of the girls said.

"My testing crap!"

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