taking care of me

The blood sugar reading was 133--not terrible, but not good. I do need to get more exercise and watch what I eat more carefully. It would behoove me (English teacher word?) to remember poor Garland and his lingering death, having bits and pieces of himself removed until finally, he's a living corpse in a hospital bed. That image (which is from my imagination, based on what the family told me) is juxtaposed with a real-life image of watching him eat cookies at the Chinese restaurant that we all went to with Aunt Susie so often. (Okay, so a real Chinese restaurant in the middle of small-town Louisiana isn't authentic, but it is the closest anyone will get to ethnic foods in the land of grits and sausage.) Back to the topic: Garland loved to eat. He loved sweets. He could not seem to resist the urge to eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. And for someone with full-blown diabetes, that is a death sentence of a most horrible kind. He had strokes, amputations, and every medical indignity imaginable before dying in his fifties. I write about this graphically so that maybe my own warning to myself will resonate.

Yesterday I had conferences all day with my students, with no time to eat. I had breakfast about six a.m., bought an extra-large Turbo coffee at Burger King at eight a.m., managed half a diet Coke and a granola bar around one o'clock, and was so hungry driving home between five-ish and six-ish that I actually ached. It was tempting to stop at a fast-food place, but because it was raining (it rained all day long), I resisted. Then of course, I ate rather nonstop all evening.

Today the sun shines on the red and yellow leaves, just enough of a beautiful vista to make me resent even more what tomorrow's weather will bring--thunderstorms. I've got another day of conferences, interrupted from 11-noon with a faculty meeting.

I actually love conferences. That's when I find out who my students really are. Sometimes I am surprised by how different they are in a one-on-one session in contrast with how they behave in class. I brought cookies, and some of them ate like they were starved, but most resisted. Today's young person is entirely too aware of trans-fats, calories, and butt sizes. I guess that means they have less chance of developing diabetes, but I don't think it's healthy to starve oneself or to binge/purge, which too many of them do. No one knows that better than I do. After all, they write about it. Endlessly. It's torture to read their words sometimes, knowing that there is so little I can do to help. Listening is help, though, especially for those who don't have too many other adults they can trust to listen.

I still haven't made up my mind about applying for the position at my previous employment. There are pros and cons--but aren't there always pros and cons? Sometimes I amaze myself with my hackneyed prose. Seriously, it would be great to have some job security and even greater to have only three classes to teach each semester instead of four, with even more income. On the minus side, having applied and been denied so many times before, including at this university, I don't know if my ego can deal with the whole emotional crapshoot.

I'm also a bit ticked off about the change in graduation ceremony at Mizzou. Apparently they don't separately robe the Ph.D. grads now. I'm actually so irritated by that that I feel like writing to the university president, the chancellors, and anyone else who would have a say. I'm forever telling my students that our words can make a difference. Perhaps I should give it a try.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Faint heart ne'er won fair lady. Then my devil's advocate side says, yeah, but fools rush in where wise men fear to tread. Okay, that's it for the cliche machine. --Dr. S.