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Friday, November 16, 2007

Kiss It

Round and round and round she goes. The poor linoleum, its never going to be the same. Thank god I hate it. You see, Ally got a Dora! bike for her birthday. Its the end of November, not exactly outdoor biking weather here in the land of the North. So I let her ride it in the kitchen.

She's been riding since we got home, until I heard a loud BANG.

"Ally are you ok?" - you can't exactly expect me to get up, put the laptop down and check.

She walks over, flips her dress up, bends over and tells me to "Kiss it".

Um, no?

Tuesday, November 06, 2007


"Mommy, is today my birfday?"

"No, honey, it was last Friday"

"Oh, is a-morrow my birfday?"


"Mommy, can I save my birfday till later?"

Monday, November 05, 2007

Hotel Low

I hate packing. I'm always terrified that I will forget something. Overlook some small detail, that when away from home will magnify and threaten your very existence. Normally I forget stupid stuff - deodorant, toothbrush. I always double check my pump supplies, though. I figure if I've got insulin, infusion sets, needles and my tester, I'm good. I can buy anything else.

This weekend, I checked and double checked everything, yet left probably the most important item. I never even packed it. Treatment for a low.

And low I went. At 1am. I had 1 juice box in my bag. It didn't cut it. I laid there, panicking, trying to figure out what to do. I couldn't formulate a plan. Instead my mind focused on all the food in my kitchen, at home. At the bag of Halloween candy that Ally amassed. I remember drifting off into that fantasy world, where I was eating and eating and eating.

Then I woke up again.

I tried ignoring the low. Maybe if I didn't acknowledge it, it would go away. Maybe I wasn't really low. Maybe I was just panicking at the thought of not having something to treat a real low. Maybe...Maybe...Maybe...

I was low though, and going lower. I suddenly remembered that the lobby sold candy bars. I just had to remember how to get there.

At close to 2 am (1am for the 2nd time?), I dragged myself down the hall, down the elevator and into the lobby and bought myself 2 candy bars. 1 to treat, and 1 for insurance.

I remember my sister asking me where I was going. I don't remember answering her. I don't remember going and I don't remember getting back. I know I went. I know I ate a King Sized Twix bar and bought a King Sized Snickers. I remember the panic.



Why, Oh WHY did I sign up again? Why do I have a husband that won't let me quit 4 days into it? Why? Why? Why?

I'm a glutton for punishment. I can't write. I hate reading descriptive writing, how the hell am I suppose to write?

My writing - its leaves a lot to the readers imagination.

"She climbed the stairs. Scared. Dead people" There, done - Fill in the rest. How does one write a zombie novel (oh for the love, I know, but its the easiest thing I could think of, back off...) without describing the zombies? They're dead right? You've seen the bazillion movies, picture it yourself. That doesn't work though. Doesn't really up that word count to 50,000.

And 50,000 folks, that's A LOT of words.