The Bloody Reckoning

I really don't know what the Hell is happening to me. I trained briefly as a lawyer, and have made a living as a British journalist. So why on Earth should telling a lie have bothered me so much?

As I say, I have no answer to that. All I know is that lying to my optical photographer bothered me. I tried to test my blood last night after dinner.
"Oh, now you wanna talk to me?" said my testing kit. "Well you can just fuck off!" It humphed, turned away from me and flashed its "Abbbbbsolutely no battery left whatsoever, except the smidgen it takes to tell you this" light at me, bitterly.
"I'm sorry," I weaseled. "I'll buy you new batteries tomorrow...honest I will..." It's possible I even stroked it a little - I forget things, it means never having to take the Fifth.

Got back to walking this morning with Ma - did five revolutions of the lake, stopped off at Tescos and picked up two of the most expensive, plush, velvet-lined batteries I could find for my testing kit. Got home and slid them into place.

"Ohhhh," said the testing kit. "You old charmer you. OK, whaddayou want?"
"Wanna know my blood sugar level, please," I said. "I mean, if you're not too busy, y'know, I know it's been a while..."
The kit rolled its entirely anthropomorphic eyes at me, and said "OK, give us your thumb then..."
I pricked. I bled. The kit took a sip, ran it round its mouth and made swishing motions.
"Hmm..." it said eventually. "Not a bad little vintage. A little on the sluggish side, but all in all, I've tasted much worse from you..."
"Cool, I said. "Can you...y'know...give me a number?"
"8.0," it said after a little more consideration. I smiled. It was right. Clearly there's work to do, as this was a reading after exercise, but I was expecting a reckoning somewhere in the 20s (for the Americans here, diabetic control over here is measured between 4 and 7...ish...)

So the bloody reckoning begins again right here. Back to the gym tomorrow morning. And no, for those who are still wondering, the hearing still hasn't come back. Which remains incredibly infuriating, but I simply can't afford to not do anything any more - have to get on with things.