Tread
2026-01-09
I didn't get to write yesterday because I had a doctor's appointment. The day before yesterday, I scheduled the appointment because my cheap blood pressure machine at home told me I had a blood pressure of 155/100. I hadn't seen the doctor in three years. I got scared. When I went to the doctor's office, two different nurses checked my blood pressure the old-fashioned way. The first reading was around 130/80. The second was 115/70.
They also took my blood and urine to run basic tests like my A1C and cholesterol levels and a lipid profile. I already know my A1C is going to be astronomical, but I hope that I'll be able to get back on medications for it. I used to take 2,000 mg of metformin daily to no effect. I was on Ozempic briefly, but stopped taking it because I had severe stomach pain with it. There have been several breakthroughs for diabetes medications though since my last doctor's visit, so hopefully something else will come up, God and insurance willing.
After my doctor's visit, I came back home and decided to take a nap. It lasted about four hours. The evening came along and I was still tired and groggy, so I decided to skip the gym as well. No writing and no gym make me feel grossly unfulfilled. It's easy for me to take that as a personal failing, but yesterday came and went. I'm writing today, and that's what matters.
I recently discovered Bix through a backlink checker and saw that he has been reading my blog and sharing some of my posts on his site through his shared RSS feed. Bix, if you're reading this, then hello. Thanks for checking out my stuff. Usually I would send an email to you directly, but I think that given both of our proclivities with blogging-as-living, it's appropriate to share my thoughts on the blog rather than just through email.
I related a lot to Bix when I first encountered his blog, particularly with his status as a disabled person who can't work and is supported financially by family. His mom also blogs. Hi Elaine. I find myself in a similar position, living a disabled life and finding solace in simple routines and, of course, relentless blogging. It was inspiring to see someone a bit further along in life than me and still finding something meaningful in a world that doesn't comply with modern social paradigms.
For me, writing is a magical and sacred thing. I can take all of this noise that's in my head and turn it into something that can inspire someone and incite action. That's the most powerful thing I can possibly think of, and I have the opportunity to wield that power and use it for good. I don't think of that lightly. Every word and every thought matter more than I could ever know.
There's a part of me that wishes for a greater impact with ventures like this blog. Then there's another part of me that wishes I could find that Great Work and make it so that I could help everyone out now. Then there's that other part of me that tells me I will never get to have that privilege because the only thing I am worthy of is torture and death. That part is loud and doesn't stop talking. No matter how many times I vanquish him and put him in the back seat, he still finds his way back to shotgun. Pesky.
These entries used to be outpourings of emotion onto the page. They served me well as bleak and cathartic releases, but the weight of knowing that people read these makes me push myself towards something more substantive and less self-serving and self-mythologizing. I have no idea how this project will shape up moving forward. I have no idea where my life will be even tomorrow, let alone next year. Every day is a landmine and I have to tread carefully.
But still, I tread.