This is my bi-annual whine o' sickness. I hate diabetes and I hate asthma and I hate my body for having both.

Every danged cold I get, I get a bronchial infection and asthma and I have to take freakin' prednisone and then inject insulin and it happens EVERY STUPID year at the holidays, so I have to be super careful at a time when I'd rather not be so careful. I resent making sugar-free cranberry sauce and some stupid sugar free pie thing that only I will eat. I hate having foods around that I have to warn the kids out of. I want to eat something naughty and not have to be an food plan angel. I would also appreciate not having fingers calloused from poking them for blood samples and a belly covered in injection site bruises. I also would like to not widen up like a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving parade. I swear, I inflate over the holidays at an exponential rate due to the annual holiday ingestion of prednisone and I spend all of January walking it off.

I like fruitcake, mincemeat, and all kinds of bad things. (I know you read fruitcake and said,'Well, you are what you eat, you know.')

I've been struggling and it really sucks. I am sick of being sick. The kids were peeved at me because in lieu of french fries, I made them eat broccoli when we went out tonight. But they've been sick, too, and I'm sick of everyone being sick. I figure any way to get vitamins into them is good. (Although, Russell's been angling for me to go to Costco and buy the gummi vitamins and I haven't had time) Mike's sick, too, and he NEVER gets sick. It's just been a sickening time, ya know?

Thankfully, I am not working while I'm this sick. The gal I was replacing at the counseling center decided that she wanted to work full-time not part-time and my job ended. I asked the temp agency for something after the new year that used my computer skills and was for a non-profit. I said I have the business acumen for profit ventures, but no desire to use it. I will NOT turn to the dark side.

Yesterday, I got up, had perfect sugars and then promptly turned around and went back to bed after 4 hours to sleep for two more. Of course, now I'm here at this hour posting because my body clock is completely thwacked.

I want to go off prednisone, but my doctor said that if I can't get off it and insulin, that going to Orlando would be a bad thing. Somehow, I can't imagine that 80 degrees is a bad thing. I just can't. And I have a one piece, so no one will see my bruised belly, though the large whiteness should be frightening enough.

Mike asked me, jokingly, to ask him anything about the future. I said more seriously than I meant,"Will they find a cure for diabetes, so I don't have to die from this fucking disease?" He said,"That is uncertain." I said,"You sound like an 8-ball." He says,"Yeah, but I was accurate, huh?" I groused and grumbled.

I guess I feel behind the 8 ball, lately.

Thus, endeth my whine o' sickness until March-April.