Run-on Days

December 2, 2015

This hit home…

Grace Black Ink


102, 229, 446, 195, 84 this is how time passes now. It’s breakfast 2 units, lunch 2 units, dinner 3 and all include a correction formula. Math is my new best friend. The clock face has lost all its characters, and time is measured in doses, corrections, and syringes. The hours stood still the Monday before Thanksgiving as I learned of my son’s diagnosis. It’s pokes and pricks and “just a little blood,” stomachaches and headaches. There is no “good or bad,” only target, high, and low. I can recite nutritional labels like Mets’ fans know their RBIs. 15 is a magic number and 30 requires correction. Though magic doesn’t conjure anything per se. This isn’t a fairytale it’s a daily life that fluctuates. A constant flux where instability is the norm. 30 equals 1 in this new math I’ve learned and even that can change. Common Core’s ugly stepsister:…

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