Forgive me in advance, for I have no intention of making light of anyone's struggles. It's just that I've been perusing recent posts by D-bloggers about hitting the "Tipping Point" at which they can no longer stand it all, and making resolutions to shake things up in 100 days. And it hit me that it's been about that long since I started my seemingly innocent quest to fix up my living room. Which is part of the reason I've been so distracted... no, THE reason, the FREAKIN' reason.
Here's how it went, in brief:
Nearly 100 days ago, they came and they taped. They plasticked and they tarped. Two days later a man came and painted a wall. ONE WALL. Then the stone mason came and ran a buzz saw outside my front door (which was never closed for more than 2.5 minutes, even with the heat blasting). And there was DUST. And there was his transistor radio (yes, they still use them) humming incessantly even while the crew was outside eating. About a week later, whala! I had a stone fireplace.
But then it sat. And sat. And sat. And sat, and sat (any parents reminded of "Once Upon a Potty" here?) Anyway, the others finally came back for a day and they measured and drew. Above the fireplace. And then they went shopping. For electrical supplies, I hear. They did that for two days and came up empty-handed. No way to hook up that cool inset lighting in our room. No sir. No connections.
And then, at last, began the long arduous process of building the shelves. Which I asked to be set in arch shapes. Idiot. They measured and they drew (right over the original plans). They hammered and they painted. But it looked like a hanging closet. So they pried it down and started again. (Insert explative...)
Finally, on a rainy Saturday last month, they called in the Reserve -- some super-builder friend with "loads of ideas." They guy told 'em straight away what they needed to do. Which was exactly what I'd been saying for, what? Two, three, four weeks?
When the arch/shelves were finally in place, Painter No. 1 had disappeared without modern communication (no cell phone, no answering machine). So again we called in the Reserves. Thank you, Ricardo! You are oh-so-talented-and-expensive. May I also not share what my husband had to say about this whole caper, which btw, was NOT HIS IDEA IN THE FIRST PLACE.
Meanwhile, the new couches have arrived. They are beautiful, but they do not fit in the room. (Insert multiple, multi-colored explatives!!) I shall find a solution. Please don't ask.
And just what does all this have to do with diabetes, you ask? IT'S RUINED MY A1C, THAT'S WHAT! For the first two weeks, and then again in the final month, I hovered around/above 200. Correction City. But still I kept running high. OK, I was feeling a little under the weather as well, but you can't tell me my blood sugar didn't take notice of the banging and the shouting; the heavy-footed men running that blasted saw while the cold rushed in the house; and the DUST; and the second painter who recommended a "darker shade" of peachy-pinky "white" that made my living room look like Nuevo Brothel. And the luxurious loveseats that we do not love.
It just goes to show that the age-old proverb is correct: Everything Affects Your Diabetes.
For my next 100 days, I vow to keep my distance from the living room. Maybe jog right by it, for the sake of the A1C.