It is snowing (I didn't learn that in my second waiting trip to the ER in as many days) but at least my mother was fully admitted yesterday and the current health issue is being tended to by hands that are not my own because, while I can keep myself alive with math and uncontrolled substance dosages before each meal and before bed and am a rather excellent cat sitter, thank you very much, I cannot work internal medicine and fix vertebral compression fractures in the back, rehydrate, re-nutrient, or nor can I continue to put up the facade I've put up for ten years, 25 if I'm going to be honest which I might as well be because fuck it.

(When, for two days in a row of early evening gaming, I am able to handle only wanton, plotless mayhem in GTAV, I know I've gone past the point of no return. But it doesn't feel as if there is a point of return.

On top of that, I feel like hell this morning. Tends to happen when a stressful situation has been at least temporarily ameliorated but think it's as much that as it is having to put my own health through the ringer the last couple of days for someone I can barely tolerate. Uneven meal times, weather change: I tend gauge blood sugar first - a rise to 327 in the ER (I hate hospitals - and I was KN-95ed throughout; they made a useful paperbag substitute for the PTSD triggers running ripshod over my person), a drop two hours later to 122, a shitty though delicious dinner, barely rising, then this morning, hungry and a solid 136. The common question: do I feel like hell because my blood sugar is nuts or is my blood sugar nuts because I feel like hell? Until evidence points otherwise, I go with the former. Superhighbloodbounceball strikes again.

RIP Taylor Hawkins.