a science-fiction parody of the future as the present
The alarm rings. I hit snooze. I think about what day it is. The alarm rings. I hit snooze. I close my eyes and listen to the air conditioner, which hadn’t gone off like it does most nights I sleep here. I get up and take two pills from the cabinet. I go to the kitchen and take out some diet Sunkist soda and open the top and take two gulps, swallowing each pill with each gulp. I put the cap back on the diet Sunkist soda and put it back in the fridge. I pour myself a cup of cold coffee. I sit down at the computer and read a few blogs that I had open from the other night. I get bored with those blogs again and close all the tabs and open new ones with porn on them. I finish my first cup of coffee, get up and pour a second, leaving it on the desk as I move to the couch to check my blood readings. I prick my finger, allowing a small drop to form at the tip and then shuffle that drop to the stick of plastic and metal that was sticking out of a machine. I have no idea exactly how it works, but it does. My blood sugar is extremely high, and has been for the past day. I go to the bathroom and stick a needle full of insulin into my arm, first wiping away the night’s dead skin with an alcohol swab. I put the cap back on the needle. I go back to the computer. It is 6:36 AM, Tue, according to my computer. I read some record reviews about things I don’t really care about. I search online for downloads of the albums I read about and download them, listening to a few seconds of each song I skim through and throw 4 out of 5 of them in the trash. I hear the crinkle sound of digital files being deleted. It is now 6:59 AM, still Tue. I go to the couch and stick another tiny needle in my finger and slip some more blood onto a test strip. It is still unusually high for me in the morning, after injecting glucose lowering insulin. I wait another 20 minutes, reading last weeks New Yorker about something I don’t care about. I check it again and it’s still unusually high. I feel fine, but concerned. I take a shower, scrubbing my arms, under my arms, my legs, washing my hair, scrubbing my face with bargain apricot scrub. Washing my balls leaves me with the vague feeling of wanting to masturbate, thinking slightly of some of the porn I had been looking at earlier, but it seems like too much work to do and I hate how semen ends up feeling when mixed with water anyway. I put on a pair of boxers and walk over to the couch to check my blood sugar again. I don’t use an alcohol swab this time as I just got out of the shower. It is still unusually high. I decide that I should continue checking things, making sure it gets on track. I call my boss’ office phone number and tell her the situation, knowing that she is probably taking the day off today anyway. But one has to call with these things. I text-message my co-worker friend to let her know what’s going on so she doesn’t worry. I go into the bathroom and open up the cap to my insulin pen and inject 5 units into my gut. I don’t use an alcohol swab because I just got out of the shower. I go back to my bed and turn on an episode of Sex and the City, the one where David Duchovny plays Carrie’s high school boyfriend who’s crazy and Samantha pretends to be someone she’s not to get everyone into a private pool. I play a few games of solitaire on my phone, winning more times than not. I have a craving for some StoveTop instant stuffing, which I happen to have. I make it knowing that I shouldn’t eat it, with my blood sugar being haywire, but think it will be nice to have on-hand once things get back to normal. I check my blood again, using an alcohol swab this time since I’ve been touching my phone so much, and it’s still high, but better. I lay back down on the bed and fall asleep for 20 minutes, not dreaming about anything or not remembering dreaming about anything. I go back to the computer and read a few emails from friends who I never see anymore and point me to a blog post that gets me angry the more I think about it, which is more than I should be thinking about things like this, I should be thinking about my body’s blood glucose levels. I take a sip of coffee and kinda want to throw it up but I don’t. I download a clip of the SFO moving sidewalk and play around with it using a new Apple product that everyone hates. I stick one of the songs I kept from the morning on the soundtrack and export it to my desktop. I upload the video to Vimeo and go back to the couch and check my blood again. It’s been too long for the insulin I have given myself not to be working, and things aren’t looking good, so I go back to the bathroom and shoot myself up another 4 units of insulin, this time in my leg. I go back to the bed thinking that by the time I finished masturbating it would be a good time to check my blood sugar again. But I play another few games of solitaire instead. I switch to catching up on the new season of True Blood, and find it hard to focus. I don’t like the idea of fairies getting into the mix. The smell of the StoveTop stuffing has filled the room and makes me want to gag now. I play some more solitaire and watch my feet do funny things in front of me. I say the word “rabbit” out loud to hear my own voice, that I still have one. I drop another dram of blood on a test strip and the results are better. I wash out my coffee cup, pouring what’s left down the drain. I stand at the sink and close my eyes, listening to the wasting water pour out. I hear that the toilet flush needs to be shaken closed, and go into the bathroom to do that too.
Things go on like this until I’ve filled up a book about it and hate myself in the morning.
