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TOPIC: Dire? Beat This.
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Dire? Beat This. 12 Years, 6 Months ago
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Well I'm pissed off. So I'm going to vent. I seek no reply, nor do I particularly expect anyone to spend very long reading this because it's going to be a self indulgent bleat.
One week and two {nearly three} days ago I was diagnosed with T2 Diabetes. Now I'm not going to crow about the injustice of this, despite the fact that as far as lifestyle goes I deserved it 20 years ago and now I don't. I smoke a bit {go on, punish me for the rogue, pariah and general scally that this makes me}, I probably drink waaaaayyyyy too much coffee, and... and... and... actually, there is no "and". My diet is a model of healthy eating {well, almost}, and alcoholic intake is very nearly a thing of the past - a glass of Birra Moretti now and then {once a month if that}, and Falanghina or Pecorino wine in about the same quantity.
So here I sit, numb-footed but otherwise completely free of any other physical manifestation of the chronic illness which appears to be my latest misfortune. It might be said that I'm getting off light. Some people only have to look at the wrong thing and they lapse into coma. But most, I suspect, are like me, pretty much healthy. So what's the source of my ire? Why this petulant little outburst? Well I''ll tell you. Information is a useful thing. And I'd certainly value it if I was actually getting any. I'm not your common idiot {au contraire, my own idiocy is quite uncommon}, and in the absence of anything as yet forthcoming from the NHS, I've tried to do some of my own research {I've been at this game for some time and stole a march on my doctors in the cases of plantar fasciitis and carpal tunnel syndrome which irked me in the benighted first decade of this so far woeful century}. I might be forgiven for thinking that a condition as common as this latest symptom of my surrendering to middle age and general decline into that which we lovingly refer to as "pretty much fucked" would be fairly easy to research. But no. Everything I read seems to make one of two assumptions about who I am and the way I live.
I should be, it seems, either American, and addicted to something called "soda", potato chips and ketchup, or someone who is capable of counting my calories, carbs, etc, by reading what it says on the box. On the box? What fucking box? I don't buy stuff in boxes, I buy it fresh. Just about the only thing I use which displays information like that is passata. Fresh stuff doesn't have "nutritional information" on it.
So what can I, and can't I, ram into this rapidly collapsing system, then? I read on one site that one of the things I should avoid like the plague is pasta. Now this came as singularly unwelcome news because we virtually live on pasta, and much of my time is spent in the kitchen devising new and devilish sauces with which to adorn said foodstuff. Feeling like my life was about to lose all meaning {such is my devotion to pasta} I read on and found I needn't have done all that despairing, mournful stuff, because further down the page I found myself being advised to shun the demon potato in favour of - wait for it - pasta, a far healthier option.
So here we have the whole problem the internet appears to suffer from in microcosm. It's full of advice - usually crap advice. And this is the panacea for so many peoples' lives? This is the thing that nearly everyone devotes so much of their lives nowadays to - reading, consuming and generally relying upon? It should be the repository of all human wisdom. Instead it's the source of many woes and misrepresentations. I think I'll chuck my computer away. Either that or start praying that the next thing to go numb {and, believe it or not, left "untreated" the only solution to this is amputation!} is my head. AAARRRGHHH!!!! {as the Germans used to say in those war comics I used to read as a kid, usually preceeded by "Tueffel"}. Rant over. It's time for bed.
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Re:Dire? Beat This. 12 Years, 6 Months ago
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Interesting that there appears to be a link between the judicial process and chronic illness. As to losing weight, I don't have much to shed. While I'm not a stick, neither would anyone ever refer to me as "Gigantor". I wear 34" waist jeans. Cures? Oh, the internet seems to be full of them {along with cures for AIDS, cancer, homosexuality and, if you look really hard, even death itself}. I think I'll place my faith in common sense rather than latter day Doctor Good's Patent Curealls.
My problem isn't that there's no information. Rather, there's too much. And most of it is useless. The curse of the late 20th century is also this century's blazing obsession and it boils down to one word.
"Choice".
And on this subject I could rant on for ages once again. Better to simply say that the less "choice" one actually has, the more "choice" seems to be available. Of course, this is simply the triumph of style over substance. The default position for what we regard as civilization these days.
Pah.
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