What government is

Government is bureaucracy.

We like to pretend like they are separate things, because that fits better in our hierarchical naked beach ape minds. Goverment, we like to think, is that top layer where our political alphas do their important political stuff that we, the rest of the monkey troupe. need them to do in order to keep us safe.

Bureaucracy, on the other hand, is that annoying stuff with people shuffling pieces of paper around and making you go through a bunch of seemingly needless steps just to get your goddamned driver’s license renewed.

But that’s a false separation. A bogus duality. Government is bureaucracy, bureaucracy is government. Government is made of bureaucracy. Bureaucracy is the government. There is no government that is not also bureaucracy.

It is easy – childishly easy – to forget this. We make a game of pretending that the parts of government we like are “the government” and the parts we don’t like are “the bureaucracy”, but you just have to compare maps between two random citizens to realize just how petty and arbitrary a distinction that is.

Every part of government is a part of a vast bureaucracy. The solider in the field, the cop on the beat, the road worker repaving a section of sidewalk, and the middle management interdepartmental liaison are all equally bureaucrats. The fact that they are at the lowest level of the structure, the parts you can actually see working, doesn’t make any of them more important or less a part of government any more that the wheel of the car is more important than the engine because that’s the part we can see and interact with. It is all government.

We Canadians seem to have a somewhat better grip on this than the Americans. After all, they have “truth, justice, and the American Way[1]” and we have “peace, order, and good government”. We Canadians are, however dimly, aware of the fact that we are the government and the government is us. Whatever level you are dealing with (national, provincial, municipal, school), we remain aware that the bureaucrats we are talking to are fellow Canadians, just like us, and so we feel the same obligation to deal with them in a polite and reasonable fashion as they feel towards us.

Not so down south. Americans are constantly at war with their own anti-authoritarian oppositional/defiant nature, and so they are compelled to divide everything into two camps, Us versus Them. The Little Guy versus the Government. Republicans versus Democrats. Coke versus Pepsi. Great Taste versus Less Filling.

But we are talking about degrees of the same disease. Every democracy struggles with these same false dichotomy these days. The Baby Boom generation cannot stand to be told what to do, no matter how righteous the order. So they reactivate their faded memories of being anti-authoritarian rebels and pretend like it is still Us Versus The System, even though they are the system now and have lost all rights to be considered the underdog.

I guess they never learned to be responsible. Responsibility, after all, restricts freedom and is therefore evil. Nothing else is relevant. Any arguments that they are being irresponsible meet with “LA LA LA, I CAN’T HEAR YOU”, or its equivalent.

So even though they are in power, they are The Man, and they are The System, they still behave like spoiled teenagers for whom everything is optional (or should be) optional, including taxation, law, government, and anything else they don’t like.

Global Warming is going to kill us all? LA LA LA! The wealthy are destroying democracy? Whatever, dude, I’ll be fine so who gives a shit. The police are shooting black people, like, a lot? Nah, we killed racism, everything’s cool. Whatever they have to believe in order to justify doing whatever feels good or is fun to them, they will believe it.

They did it when they were hippies telling themselves having lots of sex and taking lots of drugs will somehow bring about world peace, they did it again when they decided getting jobs and going corporate wasn’t really selling out, they did it a third time when they convinced themselves “greed is good” in the Eighties, and they have done it again now that they are the system and the power but they don’t feel like taking on the responsibility that clearly entails.

Nope, we’re still the put-upon victims of a tyrannical System that only wants to keep us down by doing the worst thing possible in the entire catalog of human sins, making us less rich and more poor. We literally cannot think of anything worse and there is literally no possible justification for it, ever, period.

And this will remain true no matter how many fun wars we vote for. We don’t have to pay for that, The Government does. The Government has unlimited amounts of money from…. I don’t know, somewhere… and therefor can do whatever the hell we want it to do without having to charge us one red cent for it. They only take our money because they are big greedy meanies who like hurting people and hate success!

That’s what we have to believe in order to continue being selfish, callous, and irresponsible, so that’s what we believe.

It’s high time we make these motherfuckers grow up at last. You can’t always have things your way. Some things remain true no matter how much you dislike them. There are lots of things that you still have to do even after your tantrum. There is no Great Depression generation to be the responsible parent and clean up after you any more.

You’re in charge. Behave yourselves. Take a good hard look at reality and deal with life as it is, even all the parts that suggest, however mildly, that sometimes you should not, in fact, be allowed to do whatever the hell you want.

It is high time you admitted to yourself that you are the grownups now, and it’s up to you to clean up your own messes.

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)
  1. Note we don’t say anything about “The Canadian Way”. That’s because we don’t automatically assume that the way we do things is the best in the world. We don’t need it to be.

The local news, again

Don’t have anything in particular in mind for today’s words, so I guess it’s personal update time.

Let’s see. Oh, my “earaches” are under control. Quotes because they are probably more than just earaches. Whatever they are, as long as I keep my nose blown and my sinuses empty, they are not a problem. I have not had a serious attack for a while.

That doesn’t mean the problem is solved, of course. Whatever the hell that is wrong with me that caused them in the first place has not been fixed. I only have the symptoms under control. I still need repairs.

Speaking of which, I haven’t heard from a surgeon or my doctor’s office about seeing a surgeon to fix up the big holes in my abdominal wall yet. I am going to call my GP’s office tomorrow to ask about it, and to make *sure* they have my phone number right. I have all these problems (fucked up knee, hernias, earaches) and I want to get them all fixed if I can.

I am falling apart, and nothing seems to be happening about it.

I am perfectly willing to endure whatever I have to endure to get myself patched up. I am not exactly eager about it, but I am willing. I know there will be unpleasantness ahead. Things that are scary, things that are weird, things that are uncomfortable, and things that just plain hurt.

But irresponsible as I can be, especially towards myself, if I know I have a problem, I am going to want to get it fixed.

In a weird way, it is nice to have some problems that can actually be repaired. Things like diabetes and depression can’t be surgically corrected. There is no way to have your insulin resistance patched up, or have your depression removed. They are long term problems which may or may not be entirely solvable.

The abdominal hernias, at least, can be repaired. Who knows what good that might do me? I have no idea how long I have had those hernias. They might be quite old. Maybe they are the whole reason I have digestive issues in the first place.

It’s not hard to imagine that these “soft blockages” I have talked about before, where things get backed up down there and end up compacted and causing all kinds of trouble, might just be the spots where the food is going through the part of my small intestine outside my abdominal wall.

Seems like the natural place for a bottleneck, is what I am saying.

So it could be that, once I am all patched up and healed up, I am a much happier dude, with way less intestinal instability. I have kind of felt like my guts were hanging out for a long time, but I just assumed that was metaphorical.

Turns out, it is literally true, in a way.

Boy, I hope my feeling like there’s a cold wind blowing through me never becomes literal. That would be fucked up.

Anything else to report? Well, the reason I am doing all my bizness around seven hours earlier than usual is that today I will be going to the monthly BCSFA meeting, despite the omens.

Omens like the fact that the hallway in Ray’s building have recently been repainted, so there might be a fumes issue. I am all over the place with paint fumes and my reaction to them. Sometimes they don’t bother me at all, sometimes they annoy me a little, and sometimes they make me feel like I am going to pass out and/or throw up and/or die.

So we will see if I can even attend the damned thing. I would hate to be a cause for complications. For example, I would not want my inability to handle the fumes keep my roomies from doing so. So I have a backup plan.

If that ends up being the case, I will just get someone to drop me off at the Skytrain station in New West and I will Skytrain my way home. We live two blocks from Brighouse station, so it is not that big a deal for me to Skytrain it. The only complicated bit will be switching Skytrain lines. But I can figure it out.

The other ill omen is that Kathleen fell and cracked her shoulder. Poor dear! I hope she is okay.

Besides her personal suffering, there is also the issue that she is usually the person who brings most of the snacks. So I am guessing that there will be no snacks. And there is usually quite the spread.

The snacks are not necessary, of course. All you need for us nerds to have a good time is a big room with enough chairs for everybody. We will entertain ourselves with our vibrant and scintillating conversation.

But still. Kathleen’s mishap makes the whole thing feel ill fated. Silly, I know, and completely irrational. Probability does not work that way. Bad things happening does not, without a causal link, make other bad things happen.

Spilling milk on your shoes at breakfast did not make that pigeon poop on you during lunch, and it doesn’t mean that something bad will happen to you at supper either.

Despite that, we humans are a superstitious lot. No matter how hardnosed a skeptic or rugged a philosopher you might think you are, you have superstitions nevertheless.

Anything else to report? Not that I can think of at the moment. Life has been going fairly smoothly lately, especially since I got that GST cheque. Before it, I was very tense about money and worried about making it to check day this month.

But now, I am serene and calm on the subject. I will be just fine.

Oh, get this : I still haven’t ordered that Airbake cookie sheet I want because I fucked up when I gave the lady at Money Mart my postal code. So I have to go in again.

God as my witness, I will have unburnable cookies!

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Racing to be born

My creativity is extremely impatient.

Maybe that is because everything was cooped up inside me for so long. That created the conditions for me to become addicted, instantly addicted, to the release I get from writing my thousand words and posting them immediately to the net every day.

This blog is truly a lifeline to me. It lets me get at least some of my words out. I still have a billion words locked inside the vaults and storerooms of my soul, but with this blog, I can at least slow down their rate of accumulation.

Obviously, the vlog entries help with that too.

I am pretty happy with how my vlog is going lately. Granted, the blog entries used to have higher production values back when all I had was a crappy webcam and too much time on my hands. Being able to record it and edit it immediately made a big difference. I could cut and paste and trim and title when it was all still molten, not yet fully cooled.

That is what I mean about impatient creativity, though. Just the act of having to plug my tablet into my computer (and transfer the file over to my HD to edit it) is too long and too complicated a step for me. If I do that, the red-hot creativity of it cools and solidifies and my inspiration to go on is dead, dead, dead.

I will try not to be too gross about it, but creation to me is a lot like a process of organic elimination. Once the words (or whatever) are out of me, I don’t want to see them again. I want to move on to the next thing.

I wish I could say that there was a period after which they no longer feel like a part of me and so operating on them (known to sane people as “editing”) won’t feel painful and disgusting and just plain wrong…. but I don’t seem to operate like that. All that happens is that over time, they leave my immediate memory, but all it takes is reading them again to take me right back to when I wrote them in the first place, and boom, they are a part of me again.

And I just can’t go back like that. I just…. can’t. I don’t know why and I wish it were different, but one of the hard life lessons I am learning lately is that there will always be things about yourself that you can’t justify or explain but are nevertheless a very important part of you that is not up for debate.

Sometimes, all you can say is “that’s just how I am”, or “that’s just how it works for me”, and if people truly care about you, they will take that as true without argument or denial.

This is, presumably, intuitively obvious to people who are not all bound up in the hyper-rationality trap. People less restricted by the need to stay in the light of reason, logic, and rationality are completely fine with telling the world, either by word or deed, that they are who they are and work like they work and that is the beginning, middle, and end of it.

But somewhere on the way, I donned the straightjacket of excess reasonableness. My verbal/logic abilities fooled me into thinking I could explain everything and justify anything and that I could face the world as a self-contained rational stalwart without any of those messy inexplicable noncommunicable truths to worry about.

It is amazing what an elaborate and transparent set of delusions one can create when one makes them out of logic and reason. This is especially true when you have the mind of a psychologist like I do, because there isn’t the enormous dark area of human behaviour sitting there on your map of the universe, reminding you that there is a lot you just plain don’t get, like there is with a lot of other hyper-rationals.

I have never had a big trouble understanding why people did what they did. I was only ten years old when I realized that everything people do makes sense to them, and that was the key to unlocking most of human behaviour. You can deduce a lot about people’s motivations once you start from that premise. People are not random.

You can see, then, how someone like me might fool themselves into thinking they see all and know all, or at least, can figure most of it out, given time.

But that is so, so very wrong. Being able to see and explain things is only part of the puzzle of living. It’s great for reassuring you that being reclusive isn’t as exclusive as it seems to be. It’s great for looking at the world through a telescope from way on high and fooling yourself into thinking you are somehow a part of what is going on down there. It is great at making you feel you can handle anything, especially when you haven’t had to handle anything lately.

But there are vast realms impenetrable by logic and light within the human soul. None of us gets to be intellect only, no matter how proud Reason likes to pretend that the rest of the world doesn’t exist or doesn’t matter. Every one of us is a vast cosmos of self, filled with memories, emotions, opinions, and all the other stuff for which we have no names.

It is true that we must always know the difference between what goes on inside our minds and what goes on outside of them, and the mystically true should never be mistaken for the literally true.

But that does not mean we get to ignore all that we cannot explain about ourselves. You do not need to be able to justify yourself to the world. We are so much more than our reason and language can ever convey.

I don’t know, that’s just the way I am.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

If I didn’t care

You know your life has taken a strange turn when you find yourself wondering what it would be like to be a sociopath, and thinking that on some levels, it sounds kind of good.

I mean, sure, they’re the definition of evil. But they seem happy.

Not really, of course. For someone like me, wondering what it is like to be a sociopath, devoid of empathy, is like a person with chronic eyestrain headaches wondering what it would be like to be blind. It might seem nice when you are just thinking about it in the abstract, but the moment you imagine it actually being true, reality sets in and you realize it would be horrible.

Still, I wonder. I wonder if being a sensitive person and being a sociopath are somehow linked, in the same way that light and shadow are linked. I wonder if there are sociopaths out there who got that way because of some intolerable empathic memory or event that was so profoundly disturbing that the only way out of that hell was to isolate and disconnect the entire empathic circuit of the brain.

This is not an unknown phenomenon. Phobias are basically wildly overgeneralized reactions to traumatic incidents. When one person who touches the hot stove might come away thinking “Wow, that hurt like hell, I better not touch a hot stove ever again!”, another, possibly more sensitive or more reactive person, might come away thinking “Stoves are evil! I hate stoves! Stoves just want to hurt people! I won’t go near a stove ever again!”.

So that is one theory of sociopathy. There needs to be many others, because one thing we know about these people is that a lot of them come from perfectly average homes with no known evidence of trauma of any out of the ordinary sort.

It is entirely possible that some people are simply born that way. If so, then we should be able to observe the difference in their minds with modern realtime brain activity imaging via fMRI. This introduces the intriguing and disturbing (so much of modern brain science is both) possibility of there being an objective way to determine if someone is, indeed, a sociopath.

On the one hand, that conceivably could be used as a legal defense. A defense attorney could argue that their client was literally incapable of stopping themselves from doing heinous things and therefore cannot be held legally accountable to them.

And of course, because we have this crazy (hah) legal system that can only think in terms of “innocent” or “guilty”, that could theoretically mean someone is put back on the street on the grounds that they are the kind of person who should not be, under any circumstances, be back on the street.

That’s why I think we need to revitalize the civil commitment process. Yes, in the past it was horribly abused to send away people who were merely inconvenient to the state or to their families, but there has to be a way to declare someone, legally speaking, too crazy to be free.

So maybe it happens due to trauma, maybe some people are simply born with a brain abnormality that makes them unable to care. The third and least likely possibility is that at some point in life, people make a choice. Maybe a conscious choice, maybe an unconscious choice, probably somewhere in between.

They choose how much they care. They make their deal with the world about what is worth caring about and what is not, what circumstances justify a sacrifice of purely selfish concerns in pursuit of moral (empathic) rewards. They draw their circle around themselves, and everything within their circle is their business, and everything else is someone else’s business, in all senses of the word.

And some people choose bigger circles and some people draw smaller circles, and sociopaths draw the smallest ones possible. Theirs is a solipsistic subjective reality in which only they are real, and everyone else is just a shadow, an irritation, or at best, a means to an end.

But have you ever wondered why merely not caring about people would drive them to violence? One answer is, of course, that it doesn’t in most cases. There is significant evidence that there may be a dozen well behaved sociopaths lurking, unknown, for every headline-grabbing low impulse control deviant who does unspeakable things to people.

But I think that, for the ones that do draw attention to themselves, there is a secret to the evil they do beyond their glib and superficial answers as to why they did their misdeeds.

They will say it was out of curiosity, or boredom, or anger, but I think that part of their mind knows something very key is missing and is trying to find a way through that icy cold steel that is their sociopathy, but the only thing it can find that comes close to what it knows it should be feeling is the bludgeoningly strong empathic signals that come from someone else being in extreme pain and fear.

So they are drawn to acts of sadism not merely for some kind of sick thrill, but because it makes them feel… better, somehow.

This, of course, does not justify the acts, it just explains them. I am sure many sociopaths would object to the idea that they hurt people just so they can feel something for once. That would make them sound like a pussy.

To wrap this entry up, I will return to where I started. I know what it would be like if I didn’t care, and it is no good. Like I have said many times before, a guy like me could be a terrible menace without moral restraint. Think Hannibal Lecter crossed with the Joker. The worst villains are always the ones who use great intellect to do harm, and mine is pretty damned big.

I don’t really want to stop caring.

I just want it to be quiet in my head for once. At least for a little while.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.

Save your spoons

There;s this interesting bit of theory floating about called Spoon Theory.

The basic idea is that everything you do in life costs you a spoon. That spoon might represent physical energy, mental determination, emotional coping resources, or anything else you might have on hand to use to face the day.

Healthy people never pay attention to their spoon supply for the same reason that rich people don’t pay attention to how much things cost : healthy people have lots and lots of spoons and they can go through the day without even thinking about them, or even know that spoon transactions are occurring.

But us sick people have far, far fewer spoons. (Why spoons? Click the link above, it explains all. )

Because we are short a lot of spoons, the spoon-rich people can’t understand us. What to them is a negligible expenditure is a massive investment to us. To them, we look like we are being petty and fussy and “making a big deal of things” because we are being so deliberate about how we invest our time.

Obviously, what is a tiny expense to them is a huge decision for us, but without the right kind of language to use to express this idea, we spoon poor misers come across as uncaring, aloof, boring, a wet blanket, and so forth and so on.

People who have never had a long-term illness (because it is the days on days on days that drag you down) can’t understand this. It is entirely outside their frame of reference. No matter how well-intended and caring they are, they will never truly understand what it is like to have so few spoons.

An interesting extension of this spoon based metaphor can be found in this article.

In it, the author talks about how different people have a different number of spoons for various kinds of activities in their spoon drawer every morning. There are spoons that can only be spent on physical activity, ones that only work for language tasks, ones for pure cognition, and so forth and so on.

When you run out of spoons in a given field, that is it. Any further endeavour in that field will come at enormous cost. If you need a Type A spoon when you have none left, you can’t just use a Type B. Instead, you may have to burn every spoon you have just to keep going, and that can only last so long.

Again, this is largely invisible to the spoon-rich people of the healthy world. They can’t understand why doing a little more of something can be a big deal for those of us on a very harsh spoon diet.

Myself, I always have tons and tons of mental activity spoons. All I do all day is exercise my brain, after all. And I usually have a decent supply of sensitivity spoons at hand too.

But my social coping spoons are in very short supply. And my physical activity spoons are there, but most of the time they are locked away in a steel compartment marked “depression”.

So the firewood is there. I just rarely have the coping resources to light the fire.

That’s another set of spoons I have in short (and somewhat random) supply : emotional coping resources. In the past, I have called that ATC, or Ability To Cope. When you suffer from depression like I do, even everyday living taxes your ATC spoons. Things outside of the comfort zone of your routine can seem impossible to afford. Suggestions or invitations to do things that would be a perfectly reasonable expenditure for most of humanity are the equivalent of asking you to mortgage the home so you can go out for some ribs.

And the way healthy people don’t understand spoon poverty goes triple for people with mental illnesses, especially depression. Depression is one of the most invisible disabilities there is. There are no externally verifiable symptoms. It really is “all in your head”. There isn’t even a medical test that can prove you have it.

To all eyes except the one inside your tortured mind, you are perfectly healthy. A cancer patient can point to tumours on an X-ray. A blind man can show you his clearly nonfunctional eyes. Nobody disputes a broken leg. [1]

But us depressives have nothing. Healthy people, not entirely unreasonably, often feel like we are in some sense faking, even when they know that isn’t true. It is hard to believe in a thing for which there is no physical evidence.

One thing that I have not seen covered is the possibility of changing your spoon drawer. Those allocations are not set in stone. I know, for example, that therapy has expanded the emotional coping section of my spoon drawer. Problems that used to loom enormous on my spoon budget, so that I felt I had to save up all my spoons just to cope with them, now seem minor.

I can go around in public now with almost no social anxiety. I won’t say it’s gone, because it will never be gone. I can feel it rattling around in the attic of my mind when I am out and about, trying to escape its bonds.

But for the most part, I am fine. Taking it to the next level and having me go someplace where there will be strangers is another thing entirely. But I no longer feel incredibly exposed, like everyone is staring at me, when I am on the street or sitting alone in a restaurant.

All the hubbub of humanity around me feels safely distant now. Part of that is the drugs, I know, but most of it is true recovery. The drugs only cover up the symptoms long enough for the real treatment to take effect.

So I will sign off this episode of the Spoon Show by saying don’t assume your spoon drawer is your destiny.

You can be so much more.

Footnotes    (↵ returns to text)
  1. Relax, I am not saying having depression is worse than having cancer or being blind. It is just an example.

Three tales of Richmond

I have not one, not two, but THREE videos to share with you today.

I know. I spoil you people. But you’re just so cute!

And upon each of these videos hangs a tale. We will begin at the happy end of the pool.

That’s me in the corner in the White Spot in Richmond Center, all happy and content and unknowing of the tricks fate had in store for me that day.

In addition to the aforementioned onions and potatoes, I also ended up buying me some Kool-aid. Yes, they still make it! Its shelf space has not been entirely taken over by powdered sports drinks and Crystal Lite yet. They are down to the three permanent flavours (Grape, Orange, and Cherry), but by God, they are hanging in there.

The idea came to me when I realized that with the onions and potatoes and the various munchies I was buying, I already had a lot to carry, and the thought of adding 2 liter bottles of pop to that load did not appeal to me.

Then I remembered Kool-Aid. I tried making Kool-Aid with Splenda before, but I couldn’t seem to get the elements to mix properly. Since then, I have been assured that if I apply enough elbow grease, the three Holy Elements of water, Splenda, and Kool-Aid will combine unto one, and I will be a big happy Kool-Aid drinkin’ kid again.

I drank a lot of Kool-Aid as a kid. Not that my parents bought it… my mother would never have bought such sugar stuff. But even as a kid, you can afford 25 cents for a packet of Kool-Aid, and I became quite the connoisseur. Those who know me will not be surprised to find that I was constantly experimenting with various flavour combinations.

Eventually, I settled on a fave : root beer (I did buy pop too sometimes) and Mountain Berry Punch. Sugar aside, I am pretty sure I would find it gag-inducingly sweet now, but as a kid, it was manna.

Now we move to the slightly darker side, wherein I get really fucking pissed off about this whole Ebola thing.

And it gets worse. Further headlines told me about the Ebola Task Forces that are popping up everywhere as a reaction to people’s entirely irrational fears of Ebola. Millions of taxpayer dollars are going to be wasted on completely pointless countermeasures simply because the world, or at least the white world, has decided it would be really fun to get all scared about Ebola.

I came up with a term for this. I call it Reality Horror Theater. It’s just like going to a horror movie, only real, or at least, as real as it needs to be. Reality show real.

And everybody can have jolly good fun getting their fear catharsis for the day from this rampant repugnant bullshit and feel perfectly safe in doing so because, like with a horror movie, you know it isn’t really real.

When looked at that way, you can see how every moral panic is basically the same thing as this Ebola shit. It’s fun to be scared of things that, deep down, we know are not real and therefore not really a threat to us. Getting swept up in a public panic feels good. Fear brings people closer together and makes them feel more unified, and how rare is that these days?

And on a sociological level, public panics serve the same purpose as anxiety attacks in individual. A certain amount of unexpressed tension (fear, anger, worry, etc) builds up and the cork pops and it all gets expressed in an uncontrollable gush.

So looked at like that, I suppose things like this are inevitable. And previous generations of the exact same moral panic lead to things like the Salem Witch Trials and Mcarthyism, so I guess I should be glad that it’s only money being wasted.

But god dammit, it sucks to be the only rational lemming in the lemming swarm.

And finally, we enter the most sinister chapter of today’s tale. A tale of…. MURDER?!?

Well obviously not. I’m here typing this, after all. But I feel like I still haven’t processed it all. This kind of mishap has almost happened to me numerous times, but today it finally got me.

I am fine now, don’t worry. The extra insulin did its job. I was trembling and sweating like an iceberg in May when I first got home from White Spot today, but now I feel calm except for the lingering feeling that I dodged a bullet today.

Maybe that is just me being as hysterical as the Ebola people. After all, a blood sugar spike would have to be pretty severe in order to threaten my life. Or even put me in the hospital.

But still, an awful lot of a diabetic’s life is about control, and losing control of your input like that really shakes a person up. Lord knows, I am no angel when it comes to avoiding the bad foods, but at least when I buy those damned cookies at 7-11, I know what I am doing and choose to do it.

Still, I am very happy about one thing : I was super assertive about the issue. I didn’t try to apologize or minimize the problem. I was very firm (polite, but firm) with the waitress, and even more so with the manager.

I think the manager could see how serious I was about it because he was definitely worried about what happens next. For all he knew, I was a brittle Type 1 diabetic who was going to keel over right there in front of him.

The fact that I was trembling and sweating like a pregnant sow probably helped convince him of that.

And yeah, I know, a lot of people would say “That is terrible! You should sue them for everything they are worth!”.

And if I experienced a more severe reaction, maybe I would have. But as is, I got a free lunch out of it (and they say there’s no such thing) and that is fine by me.

I am just not the sort of guy to bust people’s nuts over something like this. Maybe I should be, I dunno. But I’m not.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.