This morning I went to the doctor to see if I could get off my diabetes medication. My test results are all perfect but she wants to take things slowly – halve my dosage while I monitor my blood sugar levels for the next 6 weeks – before I drop them completely.
She also confirmed something that I suspected – sometimes I feel whoozy after a hard gym session and it’s because of the medication. Well really because medication + exercise puts my blood sugar too low, which isn’t something you normally have to worry about with type 2 diabetes. She thinks this will be even more important if I run the half marathon.
I’ve been ringing around trying to find a way to get my car tyres fixed up. It’s basically going to cost a million dollars to get anyone to come out and do it. Maybe I should just start jacking the car up in a short skirt and see if some nice man comes to help… I’m so not feminist when it comes to things that get your hands greasy (well apart from hot chips).
All I need is a frigging tyre… and yes, I know that walking is great incidental exercise but I want to buy frozen foods sometime this decade and there is no frigging way I’m waiting around half hour for a tram while my low fat icecream melts away. And I’m doubly sick of being ripped off by the local milkbar cos diet coke is too heavy to lug home. They charge $4.50 for a 2 litre bottle. That’s just plain daylight robbery.
Damn it. This is as frustrating as hell. I’m sick of having a useless pile of junk sitting outside my house, rusting away. I’ve not had a car for months and I’m so over it. I’ll get the damn thing going if I have to strap it on my back and carry it to the tyre place.
Sometimes I wish I had a nice mechanically minded boyfriend. Life would be so much better. Oh yeah, that’s another thing that is pissing me off. Since my sister moved to Melbourne, people keep offering to set her up with dudes. No one ever offers to set me up with dudes. Ever. Well once, years ago and that was a frigging disaster. Note: don’t set your friends up without checking the dude is still single first.
I asked my sister about this and she said it’s because I’m unapproachable. What the hell? I’m all the approachable. I’m sweet and fluffy like a little kitten. If I’m unapproachable why does every frigging tourist in this town ask me for directions?
Oh yeah, I’m pissy about something else too. My agency is so frigging inconsistent with paying me. They have this airy-fairy system where sometimes I get paid on the Tuesday and sometimes on the Wednesday. That is so wrong. It says I get paid on the Tuesday on my payslip so I *should* get paid on the Tuesday. Not around the Tuesday. Not somewhere in the vicinity of Tuesday. When I ring them, they just say the payday is Tuesday or Wednesday, so why don’t they put Wednesday on the payslip? No one minds being paid a day early.
Now I’m off to my Novel class to hand in my assignment. I printed it out on Saturday and have valiantly resisted the urge to give it one last read before I hand it in. The road to writing hell is paved with “one last reads”… well maybe purgatory. A purgatory of thesaurus and moving commas. Once that’s done, I’m going home to have bed rest.
PS. Am I the only one tempted to check the birth notices for today to see if anyone was sick enough to name their child Damien?