This post was supposed to go up during American Diabetes Month - like, two days ago.

But it's worth posting, even a little late.

"No (wo)man is an island..."

Ain't that the truth?

Every time I read a post about a scary low, or a child running from a parent with a needle or a pump set.  Every time I read a post about being exhausted by the stress of the constant battle that is diabetes, or a morning shower had in tears because it's just been "one of those nights." 

Every time I cry or laugh with someone who lives on the other side of the country, or the other side of the world. 

Every single time.  My heart swells. 

Just knowing that any time of day, I can pour my heart out and someone will be there to catch it.  To understand. (READ MORE)

I look down at my finger tips and can only wonder what pricked formations lie ahead.

Four fingers have unique layouts of purplish-red dots. Each mark from it's own blood test in time. I daydream of defining those marks into something more relevant. A symbolic circle for worldwide diabetes awareness for instance. Or rows of hearts to swoon my girlfriend with. For the wanton sand bar look is not working for me.

I feel my silly dream may not come true. Not only because the idea of bleeding designs into fingertips is, well, somewhat odd, but also because my lancing device has the mirrored accuracy of Shaquille O'Neal at the free-throw line. (READ MORE)