Perhaps I should give her this essay, because I still haven't figured out how to tell her that. How do you make someone understand that she is responsible for turning your life around? As I was about to make an attempt, the waitress approached.


"Is everything . . . all right?"


I tried to recollect my thoughts, but they had conveniently escaped me. Our server must have wondered what was so intriguing about the ice cream that it warranted such intense scrutiny. As I looked down to program 9.3 units of insulin. I laughed. Another thing that I couldn't explain! Only the owner of a translucent blue back lit. beeping pancreas would analyze the carb content of a double fudge sundae before diving in spoon-first.