The Bloody Doors Off

These mist covered mountains
Are a home now for me
But my home is the lowlands
And always will be
Someday you’ll return to
Your valleys and your farms
And you’ll no longer burn to be
Brothers in arms

Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I’ve witnessed your suffering
As the battle raged high
And though they did hurt me so bad
In the fear and alarm
You did not desert me
My brothers in arms

There’s so many different worlds
So many different suns
And we have just one world
But we live in different ones

Now the sun’s gone to hell and
The moon’s riding high
Let me bid you farewell
Every man has to die
But it’s written in the starlight
And every line in your palm
We’re fools to make war
On our brothers in arms

Brothers in Arms, Dire Straits

I was woken at 5:30 am by a dog needing to poop.

How’s your day going?

There’s little doubt I’ll be slipping under the sheet soon enough to catch more sleep.

But for now, I’m awake and this song is running through my head.

I should’ve gone back to bed. But my blood sugar was low so I ate a cookie.

Been getting a lot of lows lately. I’ve reduced by insulin accordingly, yet it still drops.

Might have something to do with my eating habits.

More times than not, I’m skipping lunch now. That’s what I miss about working in an office. Your body is programmed to take a break in the middle of the day, and the logical break coincides with lunch. And your body ends up tricked into thinking, “I need to put fuel in me to get me through the rest of the day” because fuck knows coffee isn’t gonna cut it.

So I tend to gloss over a meal. And then dinner isn’t quite involved. Can’t remember the last time I cooked. It’s all about convenience, it seems. And if I do partake in an actual meal, I come to regret it. It takes me forever to eat the damned thing. The three of us went to lunch yesterday with Marlo’s mum (I skipped breakfast) and I was self-conscious at how long it took me to eat.

I don’t have an eating disorder, I just need to take better care of myself and not worry about the length of time it takes to clean my plate.

Alright, it’s 6:45 am, time to stop yammersteening and do something productive, like figure out what to put in the boy’s lunch box.