*Oops, I did it again, I had too much sugar, got lost in the sweat, oh baby!*

Words

Obligations and fatigue (see below) made even reading the latest Consumer Guide on new cars difficult. I'm looking forward towards the rest of the week to finally get some writing (and even some reading) done.


Weights

Several years ago I--with R.'s help--not only realized I was hypoglycemic but did something about it. Since then, I've fallen faster than the baseball industry in the wake of the steroid controversy. (Or GM stock.) I reached near bottom yesterday: while discussing with my boss about my work, I broke into a sweat despite the air-conditioning.

Uh, oh, I thought, as my eyelids fluttered. My worse fears were confirmed when I drove home. I felt light-headed, low on energy, and starved. I called R. who promptly instructed me to pull over the nearest fast-food restaurant and gorge on something. Anything. But like most patients, it was too late, being only a short distance away (finally!) from home. R. was not pleased but relented after I ate two days worth of leftovers. That includes the plastic containers they were in.

But as I slouched on the couch, my plates steaming from the speed I had eaten their contents, I thought how I put my body through such another tortorous regimen. Or, more accurately, my body's latest reminder that I'm not like most folks, that certain foods (unfortunately my favorites) can literally kill me. As I heaved upward, I remember how, while on the drive homeward, how I wanted to slam my food down the accelerator at the upcoming curve or race another Corvette rumbling in the next lane.

I downed a sugar-free drink, then fell into a stupor from the food. Ah! said my body. Here's another consequence from your habit. I woke 15 minutes (or was it an hour?) later. Groggy, I packed several boxes of books R. had been working on. I kept looking at the clock, thinking if I wanted to hit the gym tonight. I made up my mind after an epic 45 minute struggle. I shoved procrastination into a dark corner as I tried to feel the rush of muscle and sinew during the hot beat of chorography. I think my pulse quickened (or was it the sugar from the partially digested food?) as I hastily packed my gym bag. My answer came two hours later as I sat in the steam room.

Oh, baby, baby!


Whatever

Yesterday was the first day of my new schedule. It nearly got side-tracked, though, when I received some last minute work. Fatigue from one of the worst hypoglycemic crashes (see above) curtailed my original plans to box books from 1730 to 1830. But I still got a good half-hour worth of work which roughly translated into half the stacks.

Workout itself was fine. The instructor had a new routine with some moves that were actually difficult. While I do like her music, I hope she changes the tracks soon. Britney?

After workout I went grocery shopping. I really have to stop shopping after a workout. I haven't spent over two hundred (for two people!) in quite some time. I blame it on such items as contact lens fluid and deoderant.

R. put the groceries away. After draining a quart of fluid, I watched some television to catch my breath. I have to admit that the cable networks are far more interesting than the old regulars like ABC and CBS. Speed is, of course, one of my regulars.

After watching a snippet on some old antique vehicles, I finished boxing the books. Time is become scarce as the day looms where the floor contractors will be arriving to redo the entire downstairs and staircase. As I crawled into bed and my body began to shut down from exhaustion, I thought how domestic my life felt to my old days of sex, school, work, and food.

Yup. I'm getting old.