I lay on my bed, doing homework. I was a little thirsty, but I ignored the sensation. My hands still shook, though the reason was unclear to me. My sugar monator lie on the floor, a good place for it. I didn’t bother getting it, I had a feeling I knew where my sugar was.
So. Let’s play the guessing game. Judging by how the rate of my thirst increased with each passing second, and the large glass of water I just finished moments ago did nothing to quench that thirst..Hrm.
I’m gonna go with..345. And now, for the moment of truth. Drumroll, please?
I grabbed my monator, rubbed the alchol on my ring finger, and pressed the little needle into my flesh. I squeezed my finger; I produced a little drop of blood, and shoved it inside.
The hour glass flashes, once, twice, thrice.
Survey Says? 586.
Aw, shit.
I walked downstairs then, and grabbed a needle. I filled it with insulin, my life savior; my death angel. I shoved the tip into my stomach, wincing. Cold.
What a suckish way to live.
This is my life.