Posts: 2

1. On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning

   23.Oct.07, 03:21 EDT
   
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   Here is one of my favorite stories. I read it a while ago and I just ordered the book ( "The Elephant Vanishes"  - 1981 -  by Haruki Murakami)  from amazon.com
   
   I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. It's about how small the window opportunity the universe presents. The writer Haruki Murakami intended to teach a lesson about life's infinite possibilities. This lesson is obvious, yet completely out of reach. It doesn't matter if I read and re-read this story everyday, I wake up the next morning to make the same mistake.
   
   In any case, the way the story is woven, how the ending connected to the beginning, is simple and elegant. The way things should be.
   
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   Haruki Murakami: On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning
   
   One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.
   
   Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.
   
   Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose.
   
   But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird.
   
   "Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone.
   
   "Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?"
   
   "Not really."
   
   "Your favorite type, then?"
   
   "I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts."
   
   "Strange."
   
   "Yeah. Strange."
   
   "So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?"
   
   "Nah. Just passed her on the street."
   
   She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning.
   
   Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world.
   
   After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed.
   
   Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart.
   
   Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards.
   
   How can I approach her? What should I say?
   
   "Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?"
   
   Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman.
   
   "Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?"
   
   No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that?
   
   Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me."
   
   No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about.
   
   We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had.
   
   I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd.
   
   
   Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical.
   
   Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?"
   
   
   Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened.
   
   One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street.
   
   "This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me."
   
   "And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream."
   
   They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle.
   
   As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily?
   
   And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?"
   
   "Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do."
   
   And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west.
   
   The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully.
   
   One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible influenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank.
   
   They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love.
   
   Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty.
   
   One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew:
   
   She is the 100% perfect girl for me.
   
   He is the 100% perfect boy for me.
   
   But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever.
   
   A sad story, don't you think?
   
   
   Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her.

2. My Three Month Anniversary

   25.Sep.07, 11:53 EDT
   
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   Finally. It's been three months since my diagnosis. I've had many difficulties in my life, but these past months has been the toughest. My admiration goes out to all the Type 1 kids out there. They have been my inspiration, and every time I feel down, I think of how much more difficult this is for a child.
   
   I've been fortunate to have 30 some years of diabetes-free living. I hope to live the next 30 years complication-free.
   
   I want to thank everyone on tudiabetes for their support, and their participation on this wonderful site. I read it often, and for the most part, the people on this site have been my support system. I also want to thank Manny for his hard work on building this place that helped so many people.
   
   So here is my first A1C since I began treatment: 6.5
   
   My A1C at the hospital when I was diagnosed was 9.5. I know I should be happy about 6.5, but but some reason, I didn't feel happy.
   
   It is a realization that my diabetes is real. There is no misdiagnosis. This is not a temporary situation. I have it. I am a diabetic.
   
   Over the last three months I have been testing 6-8 times every day, injecting insulin, watching my diet, going to the gym, and started yoga. I have kept careful records of every BG on sugarstats.com (thanks Marston). I can tell you that my last my last 30 days BG average was 112, my last 3 month average was 115 and I have given myself at least 150 injections.
   
   I know I have worked harder on this than anything else in my life. I know I should be happy with the results. But I am still disappointed.
   
   Diabetes has taken away something that I will never reclaim. It has taken my innocence. It has replaced it with heart disease, high blood pressure and cholesterol. Even with my BG under control, I still fight these battles every day, and every day the enemy gains a little ground.
   
   Diabetes did do something good for me. It cured me of my ignorance. I was blindly going through life, thinking that I was invincible. It was a harsh reality check and a high price to pay for my ignorance.
   
   It's amazing that I had to become a diabetic to learn the secret of life. Diabetics know that every day and every action is a struggle to survive and everything has its consequences. We know that pain is a small price to pay for being able to see the next sunrise. You live one day at a time, and in the end, you are thankful for each one.