Well, here it is, Christmas Eve. I think I have a guest coming over to keep me company tonight. I won’t say who, but he’s a faithful reader.

And speaking of readers, dear readers, I finally finished editing my book, The Road To Amarlea, that I wrote for the National Novel Writing Month last month.

So I should be turning it into a PDF and sending it out to whoever wants it quite soon. I hope to do it today, but alas, sleep difficulties have eaten up way too much of my time today and I will not have time to get that all organized.

Ah, sleep difficulties. Is there any other subject? This time, it was not trouble sleeping. It was trouble staying asleep, because I kept being woken up by a full bladder.

It got quite absurd and quite annoying. I could barely get an hour and a half of sleep before I would be woken up by a very full bladder yet again. This does not make for peaceful, restful sleep!

I seem to recall there is supposed to be a mechanism in the brain that slows down the production of urine while you sleep in order to avoid this very problem.

Well, mine is broken, or something.

Also… where the hell was I keeping all that fluid? And why should it choose now to make its exit? Is my salt level in my blood that low?

Come to think of it, last night, anything I drank seemed to go right through me. Not sure how to interpret that. Either I am well hydrated, so my body just passes it right through to waste as if to say “No thanks, we’re good!”, or I have such a low salt level that my body cannot retain fluid at all, and I am actually at risk of severe dehydration unless I drink fluids constantly and get some salt into me pronto.

Oh, my guest is here. Early. Oh well, he can wait till I am done writing. (Thank you for your patience dear! And your company!)

Anyhow, as far as I know, I should have enough fluids and enough salt in me. Then again, my blood sugar is way high, so all bets are off.

Plus I forgot to take my insulin last night. That might explain the fluid exodus right there. I am quite annoyed with myself over that. I have no idea whether the stuff is doing me any good or not, but still. Forgetting to take it it just plain not good.

I have been pondering the truth of my diabetes lately in an attempt to motivate myself to start exercising. What it basically means is that when I eat anything with carbs in it, my blood sugar level goes up and… just does not come down again.

That means there is all this blood glucose just building up in me, coursing around my bloodstream, gumming up the place and making life hard on pretty much my entire body, but especially my heart, my liver, and my precious, precious kidneys.

And that is just… gross. It is a disgusting and disturbing thought. And the insulin by itself just does not seem to be doing the trick. That leaves only one option left.

Becoming a reverse sugar vampire! Stalking my prey at health food stores and conferences for hypoglycemics, searching for those low blood sugar people and stalking them in the night, till I can seize them in my fell clutches and, through a process as yet unknown, but no doubt very impressive, force my blood sugar into them.

What the hell, they aren’t diabetic, their bodies will actually be able to use the stuff and they will return to normal and they can go back to their perfect lives where they can eat whatever they want and not have to worry about it building up in their bodies like engine deposits and killing them.

Not that I am bitter, or anything. (In fact, I am sickeningly sweet.)

And what the hell, it still beats exercising.

Seriously though, I want to stop being so sedentary. Even office workers in their cubicles move around more than I do. And the one way left to lower that blood sugar is exercise. All sources say that does it like a treat. Your metabolism wakes up, your muscles say “Oh, work!” and soak up glucose to meet the demand, and down goes the blood sugar level just like that.

This is beyond just wanting to lose weight, get in shape, and have energy.

It’s about saving myself from drowning in my own sticky goo, basically.

Plus, exercise reduces tension, elevates mood, and so forth and so on. All the other good stuff. There are a lot of perfectly sensible, logical, intelligent reasons to exercise.

But none of that matters without the motivation, or rather, without feeling the motivation. Depression blocks action across the board, and because it is, amongst other things, a profound chemical imbalance in the brain, all the things that should motivate action… don’t.

Or at least, face enormous mindless resistance. Only low effort, low risk, high reward things get through. And that does not cover much territory.

I am tired of living like that. I want more out of life than this sad little existence of mine. But it is taking a long time to rid myself of enough of that black cloud to break free.

Hopefully, eventually, I will reach the point of increasing returns, where the more energy I have, the more I do, and the more I do, the more energy I have in the long run.

Get my metabolism working at something above a hibernation level, and learn to live a little.

And not be so damned afraid of life!

I mean, other people are having a good time. Why not me? I want to reach out and grab the good stuff before it is too late and I am a dead duck.

And who knows how much longer I have?