30
Apr
2007
Kameron Hurley
“I have to save the world. Again.”
- Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Archive for April, 2007
29
Apr
2007
Medieval Map of Empires
What I love most about this interactive medieval map of the rise, spread and fall of empires during the period is the fact that the soundtrack is from the movie Conan.
29
Apr
2007
Boy, I Had to Work For That Number
This morning’s number: 92
This is supposed to be a *normal* morning number for me. It shouldn’t take effort to get there, just routine. Not having a routine is probably what’s ruining it for me.
After yesterday’s appalling numbers (178 196 152), I broke out my aggressive testing/dosing strategy that I used to curb my numbers after I got back from Spain.
I made sure I had a reasonable number (100) before bed at 10pm, then set my alarm for 2am. Woke up at 2 with a 145, took 2.5 units. Woke up again at 6:30 am for my Lantus shot and tested at 140 (!!?? Yeah, that’s how I know my body’s just fucking out of wack), took 2.5 more units. And now, finally, at 10:30 am, I’m at 92.
Fucking sugar.
28
Apr
2007
27
Apr
2007
Other Cultures Are Icky
Hannah had a post up a while back discussing Megan Lindholm’s short story “Cut,” which is about a girl speaking to her grandmother about her decision to be circumcised because, bascially, “all the kids are doing it these days.”
This one stirred up a lot of complex feelings for me (I read it when it first came out several years ago and again recently), and today I figured out one of the things it got me thinking about. Female mutilation is a hot button topic. I have a violent aversion to the idea of circumcision; I’m not big on the whole mutilation thing. I like all my parts where they are. I think other boys and girls should keep theirs too.
Now, I know this ain’t Somalia (thank God), but things aren’t perfect here. We’ve got some questionable practices, and there’s nothing more annoying than somebody yelling at feminists to be grateful because, “You know, in Saudi Arabia, women can’t even drive.”
There are a couple of things that can happen when you present another culture’s “beauty” practices to a Western reader (the big reason given for the continuation of female castration is that any girl who isn’t circumcised will never marry any sort of decent, respectable man. Sound familiar at all? How about “If only my breasts were bigger, boys would like me!” No? Moving on, then). Talking about it can raise awareness about the practice and break the silence, which is great, but it can also lead to that whole “holier-than-thou” reader reaction. It can lead to cozy fiction that lets us marvel at the brutal exoticism of of some “backward” country and reinforce our feelings of superiority.
If it’s just, “Those crazy Africans are MONSTERS. How could ANYONE mutilate ANYBODY???” and that’s the central message of the story, then you end up with some jacked-up piece of uneducated drivel like this whose basic message is ALL MUSLIMS HATE WOMEN. ISN’T IT GREAT WE’RE NOT LIKE THAT????
Instead, you want to do something a little more like what Lindholm does, which is put that practice that we see as “barbaric” into proper context right there alongside equally barbaric practices we ourselves engage in. That’s how you use SF to get people to think about current practices, accepted ideas, and challenge them.
It’s easy to criticize the Other. It’s a hell of a lot harder to turn the mirror back on yourself.
Because then you might end up with something like this.
27
Apr
2007
26
Apr
2007
The Cold Equations
Having a rough night tonight, basically because I’ve got some medical stuff I want to take care of (like the callous on the bottom of my toe that’s going to get me my foot chopped off if I don’t get it scraped someday this century, and I’m down to my last bottle of Lantus and Novolog, and I need to buy another 2 bottles of testing strips), and weekly groceries to buy, and thinking about money makes me think about my bank account, and when I total it all up, it doesn’t work.
I can make it about 3-4 weeks out here. More like 3. That doesn’t include buying any backup insulin. What I have is what I’ve got. The podiatrist will have to go on the credit card. Which I can’t afford to pay the minimum payment on next month unless something changes.
This means that I’ll need to move out of Dayton right after Wiscon unless I can pick up some work somewhere. As said, I’ll spend this weekend and next week looking at food service jobs. I’ve got to have something soon, because as much as I try to keep upbeat and not talk about bad stuff and impending doom, you know, things aren’t exactly rosy on the financial front. Which means stuff like eating and living is in jeopardy.
The last option, which I didn’t take before this one cause it really is a last resort, is to move back home. My parents can help with food and meds. I’m screwed as far as credit card payments and student loan payments go, but there are also way more jobs that will pay me far more money in the Portland/Vancouver area than in depressed Dayton. Problem is that means I’ll eventually be paying for gas, too, which I can’t afford. My parents will have to front that, too, until I can. Then there’s insurance to consider, and etc, and you know, my parents aren’t exactly rich. They have enough trouble paying their own bills.
So that’s the last-ditch option, and just looking at the way the numbers add up, it may in fact be something I have to do very soon. Not exactly looking forward to it, but it beats dying.
Sometimes I try too hard to be stubborn, to try and do stuff on my own, and then I end up in these really desparate situations where I wait until the last minute when I’ve blown through my other options, and then it’s almost too late. I should have jumped at the opportunity to move out a long time ago, but I had other committments. And this is where I’ve ended up.
Deep breath. It’s OK. It’s not over yet, and then even when I’ve blown through this option, I have one final fall back.
Deep breath.
Take a Tylenol PM.
Go to sleep.
Tomorrow will be better.
26
Apr
2007
26
Apr
2007
Sugar Sugar
Before bed test revealed!
232
Blast that damned barista!
According to spreadsheet, I’d correct a 232 with 8 units of insulin, but that’s only if I’m going to eat something beforehand, and it’s also bedtime, so I subtract 2 units.
But I know that if I take 6 units I’m likely in for a nighttime low, unless my sugar’s doing that weird nighttime jump that it did all last week, so I take the 6 anyway.
2 hours later, I’m lying awake in bed. I start to feel lightheaded.
This is the signal to get up and test.
44
Trudge to the kitchen, measure out 8 ounces of orange juice. About 20 carbs.
Try to get back to bed.
Feel too cold. Put on sweater
Start to shake and sweat.
Take off sweater.
Throw off comforter.
Still hot and shaky.
OK, that didn’t do it.
Test again.
35.
Still dropping.
Back to the kitchen for a granola bar (yes, I keep lifesavers and jelly beans by my bed for emergencies, but if I can make it to the kitchen, I prefer the variety). Another 20 carbs.
Back to bed. Sweat some more. Shaking increases, but heartrate levels out.
Get up to write blog post about how much I love low sugar episodes.
Shake some more.
Shaking begins to subside.
Finally feeling a bit sleepy. Must be coming back up, cause lord knows I can’t fucking sleep when my sugar goes low (a blessing, really).
So I guess this means I take 4 next time instead of 6.
This is what it is: trial and error, trial and error, until you get something that works well, except when it doesn’t.
It’s all estimates, never an exact science.
But at least it’s not the year 1900.
Bed now.