Seriously. I'm worried. Because I went on a date with a guy who has type 1 diabetes a few weeks ago, and he tested my blood at dinner and I was way above normal... I was 191, or possibly 171, and the normal is like, 110. And TODAY my boss was like, "man, you drink a lot of water. And you are always in the bathroom." I could have pointed her towards my last depressing post to explain how the work bathroom is my Crying Place, and so I am there every 25 minutes, but the truth of the matter is I totally am peeing every time I go to cry. And I do drink a LOT of water. Not only that but I like, crave it, and panic when water is not accessible/not in my hand in bottle form. And on the occasions when I have attempted to restrict my water intake in order to hopefully limit my peeing ( like every marathon bus trip taken in Southeast Asia) it hasn't worked at all... instead I have just become a thirst-crazed shell of a person, feeling my hummingbird heard beat against my chest while I attempt to swallow despite the hot air burning my parched throat, PRAYING that the bus will stop in time for me to run past the hordes of young Cambodian girls selling, I swear to god, giant fried spiders and reach the squat toilet in time. Then I return to the bus, feeling good for like 20 minutes, not even minding the Khmer version of "My Humps" that has been cranked up to maximum volume, and I allow myself a sip... one tiny, minimal sip... of sweet, sweet water, and before you know it my bladder feels like it's going to explode and I am whimpering, clawing at the windows for release once more.
So as you can see, it's a vicious cycle, and one that has been going on for YEARS. When I lived in Australia, I would frequently wake up in the middle of the night and down like, 2 Nalgene bottles in 10 minutes and still be dying of thirst. I went to the doctor and he listened to my symptoms before issuing his decree: "sounds like someone's got diabetes!" As I left the office, terrified, my mobile phone rang... an international number. It was my father calling me to tell me Elliott Smith had died. It seemed like the Worst Day Ever.
Anyway, I didn't end up having diabetes then, and Elliott Smith lives on in our memories and in the poster he autographed for me when I was 16 and stood outside Showbox to meet him even though I didn't have tickets because I'm that hardcore (and by the way have I told you in the last two days how I saw Death Cab when they were like, opening for someone in Bellingham and the show cost $3? Bring your chair closer to Granny's side so she can regale you with tales of her attempts at being an "alternative" teen)... I doubt I have diabetes now, but I will probably awkwardly bring it up at my next doctor's appointment so she can roll her eyes ever so slightly and add it to the List Of Things I Though I Had, joining the ranks of chlamydia, HIV, and gout.
1 comment:
...you never told me about the giant fried spiders...
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