There was fog when I walked from the parking lot to my office. I thought it was the bright sunshine. Or the warmer temperatures. Or the jacket I was wearing that was making me feel so warm.

I was disconnected, but thought it was from the conversation I had just had with The Mr.

I wanted junk food. Something smooth like chocolate, but not crunchy like cookies. I walked to the vending machine and gently fed it money until it dropped a Milky Way.

Walking up the stairs there was more fog. I thought I was tired, overwhelmed with life issues. I briefly sat at my desk, logged in to my email account. Symlin rushed me to the bathroom, where I lingered longer than usual. Fog.

Washing my hands, I looked in the mirror and it was almost as if I were watching myself on TV. Like I wasn't really there. There was a narrowness to my vision.

Hmmm, I thought, I better check my sugar. Surely I'm not low, though, since I just finished eating lunch.

I watched my fingers as they switched the bathroom light off and opened the door. There was no shaking, so I must be OK. But the fog lifted my feet off the floor as I walked back to my desk. I closed my eyes and thought about how easy it would be to just fall down and sleep right there in the middle of the floor.

Oh, shit. I'm really low, I realized.

At my desk, the shaking started. That fog kept me from moving as fast as I wanted. My One Touch showed 40. I didn't think it would be that bad.

"Sara," I called to my co-worker. "Do we have any regular soda here? Something non-diet?" I knew getting up and walking to the refrigerator or back down to the vending machine would be impossible.

"Yeah, why?"

I thought it would have been obvious, but that was the fog thinking. "Why?" I clarified. "Because I'm really low."

I heard her shuffle to the refrigerator. "Do you want a cold one?"

"It doesn't matter," I said. This was taking forever. Maybe I should check my email again.

"How low are you?" she asked as she handed me a warm Sprite.

"40," I said, wondering if she understood the significance. She watched me drain part of the bottle, awkwardly smiling and staring.

"I'm OK," I said. "Thanks. I'm OK now."