Tuesday, July 01, 2008


It occurred to me today that I'd told my sister many years ago that I'd get a second piercing in my upper ear to match the one I got for Clarion when I sold my first book. I still like this idea for commemorating my first book.

I'm also thinking every writer needs a cool tattoo. And being 30 with a published book is as good an excuse as any.

I'll need to ask the Bad Boy at work if he knows of any good places around Dayton for such shenanigans. I have a feeling that in order to find any place great, I'd need to go to Columbus.


(also, it will not be a stupid ankle tattoo. Or a stupid lower back tattoo. It will not be of a heart, a butterfly, or a fucking flower. I mean, seriously, what's up with that?? If you're gonna do it, it better fucking mean something)

Dying, Not the Worst Thing

My first book comes out next year. Somewhere in all the craziness of my life, I think that has been kind of lost in the crazy, you know? Or maybe it's just been taken for granted all along.

Something else that's been lost during my three months of recovery and bliss in my new digs was that drive to be better, to be the best I can possibly be.

That's the thing that starting to come back.

And that's a pretty awesome feeling, too.

Some of that has been sitting down and going, OK, how hard am I willing to work? How badly do I want it? Because getting the money under control means budgeting for things like my expensive haircut, and Chipotle. More than that, it means a commitment to regular gym going and shunning pizza. Because I'm not really getting anything from pizza or *not* going to the gym. Being better means finishing the damn fucking book, expanding on to other projects. It means getting ready to present myself to the world as, like, a real author. It means a mean haircut and a search for some new kickboxing classes.

I want to be better. The best. My best.

When my drive isn't self-hatred, isn't fear of becoming somebody I hate again, then it's gotta be something better, something more. It's about potential. Some people are afraid of dying alone. Or dying unmarried. Or dying without kids. Or dying in a nursing home. Or just, you know, dying. I'm afraid of dying without living up to what I could be. Having it all end and knowing, there at the end, that I wasn't doing everything in my power to be the best I could be.

That's my real fear.

When I came out of that coma two years ago, as I recovered over the next few weeks, I thought a lot about dying, about how OK I would have been with dying. And you know what? I realized that, at that point in my life, it would have been OK to die. Because I was doing everything I could to be better. I'd traveled around the world. I had a decent job. I was plugging away at my books. I'd been to Clarion, I'd dated a little, I had a great life. I was working toward my goals. I hadn't given in, given up.

And that's the sort of life I want to have every day, that life that says, "Hey, you know, I could die today and be happy."

That's always a pretty good day.

Things That Just Aren't Going to Work

In general, in order to do 45 minutes of cardio after work, I have to take 2 units less insulin at lunch than usual.

Which would be great, except that by 2-3pm, I have the beginnings of a sugar headache and I'm starting to feel sluggish.

Thing is, I need to be at 200+ before working out so I don't fall over afterward. And I'd prefer to do that by taking less insulin at lunch instead of eating *more* right before working out (and *more* after working out just to get me home).

I so much prefer the two-units-less thing. Not sure why it's getting to me more these days. Maybe because I'm used to being so well controlled? Taking two less in Chicago worked pretty well. But then, I tended to work out *directly* after lunch.


Diabetes, yo. It fucking sucks. Expecially if you hate math.

Steph's Old Man Gets a Blog!

Steph's Old Man has started a blog!

Welcome to the internets!