Blood sugar grand at bed, shit at breakfast – an occurence explained by my not being able to run outside yesterday thanks to blood sugar being too low (has to be 180+/- – I was 113, figure which, the day before, with the same amount of insulin dropped me only 13 points instead of the 100+ it dropped me yesterday) when it came time to run, which then set off a chain reaction through the day, one that will, most likely continue throughout the weekend and at least into Wednesday when it will go crazy again because I'm getting my COVID booster – Pfizer mix-n-match to top off ye olde antibodies with some mRNA deliciousness on top of my J&J good-idea-at-the-time AND my flu shot (though I might postpone that given what will clearly, over the next couple of weeks, be an immune-system rodeo orgy of heightened everything) – which I will then have to explain to my endo the next Wednesday when I'm told that I didn't do that great with my A1C and time in target (target this, I say, with my middle finger raised) and I can say no shit Sherlock but here I am – in my immuno-heighted iteration-of-self with a hyperactive dog in a cone (10 days to go) so fuck you and fuck rye bread and fuck your admonition to stop eating my Multi-Grain Cheerios with almond milk at breakfast because it's the one source of joy I derive these days from food (save mushrooms on a bacon cheeseburger) – but today I'm running my six miles even if it's a cold rain and I get pneumonia so there and I say all of this with a mouthful of dark chocolate almonds because Sunday which means I have to engage in familial small talk all fucking afternoon which serves to remind me only how much I've failed in my goals – to never see this place again – but I'm pretty good thanks for asking.

(Oh, fiddling with a new app that I’m kind of falling in love with. Might publish a Worknotes post on it later today but FIIK.)