L'esprit de L'escalier - Vol. 6,021

Pain in my ass.

People, that is.

I'd taken a long lunch and made a plan to hit a local cafe that is totally awesome. These days, the thought of just hanging out in a cafe with the time to relax is the height of luxury.

I'd planned to convert some of my audio notes to text using my iPhone and bluetooth keyboard. Y'know, like those annoying people do. I was hoping to annoy some people. But mostly, I was looking forward to just kicking back for awhile.

Work has been beyond insane lately.

Ruby's gone. So that leaves just Stimpy and I. One of my former teammates popped by (they'd since gone off to do full time coding. Wisely, since every fulltimer who stayed got canned.) Anyway, former UX guy comes by to rib me about being the last of the Mohicans. I pointed out they were the last fulltime to still work at CorpWorld, so technically, they were the last of the Mohicans.

Ruby called a meeting to hand off all the digital detritus left by our former UX team. A website that still said "Contact us" and listed my former boss as if they still worked here. A network share chock full of projects long since cancelled. A slew of ideas, good and bad.

A series of personal directories. Each one mapping to a person who was now out looking for work.

MP's file directory - the capstone on the sad proceedings. I wonder what they'd say about our sad little troika. Something too accurate to be comfortable, no doubt.

But that was last week. The Boss was moving out of town, so everyone got together one more time - and it was awesome.

I got to see Sensei again. They were the whole reason I got to be anything at CorpWorld. I congratulated them on having the good sense to bail before the big purge. They laughed and said, "yeah, I sure dodged that severance package."

Hadn't thought of that. But I try not to dwell on the downers. Most folks seem to be doing well. Sensei seems tired, but looks well. I miss them awful.

And then I had to go. Little E was promised ice cream and suddenly all the camaraderie was over. I hugged the Boss and left.

And I went back to work without them. We're winding down a big chunk of the project, and it's been time for the victory lap demo. I enjoy demos, so I've been tapped to do them this time around. Feels rather like taking a bow for other people's work-but this is the job.

In a repeat worthy of holiday network, I'm asked to present in the auditorium to the IS managers. The PM has me demo for them so they can tell that I'm not going to disgrace them in front of the brass. Just like how it was when I started. Only this time I know they are coming, I know it will be a big crowd.

Before I go up, the PM pats me on the shoulder and tells me I'll do fine. It is obvious that they are far more nervous about this than I am. I came in early to check the room, get a backup powerpoint deck in case the environment dies on me. I got this sh!t, kay?

I totally crushed it. Had 'em rolling in the aisles. Veni, vidi, vicci, baby.

So now, it's time for my victory lap. I can finally take time to kick back, and I know just where to go. A rippingly awesome new place whose motto graces a whiteboard outside their door:

Roses are red,
bacon is red.
Poems are hard.
Bacon.

How can you not love that?

I order a latte and their killer Cuban. They just started lunch, and they're filling up fast - but there's one table left. Score!

I order my food "for here," and the guy gives me a table marker and offers to make my latte while I'm there. Cool.

I'll kick back, convert my audio notes to text and maybe even...blog.

It's practically pornographic.

I'm holding my table marker and watching some serious latte-fu.

...And then I look up and see some lady plop a bag on the far end of the one remaining table.

Wha...? There was nobody in front of me, I'm certain. This is someone who just came in. Now, this place is small, and I've seen people share tables before. My latte's not done, so I walk over to the table and put my flag on the far left side.

I'm down with sharing, but my food is ordered, paid for, and about to arrive ready for a table. I don't want somebody else to poach the other end of the table before it does.

I'm headed back to pick up my latte, and Some Lady steps in front of me. She points imperiously at where I've just come from. "Excuse me, but that's our table."

It begins to dawn on me that she wasn't intending on sharing. She went into a cafe with one open table, people ahead of her in line and plants her bag on a table before she even orders.

It takes a second to process this, I would happily have shared the table. It's a big table. I'd have my earbuds in anyway. I'd be typing and probably wouldn't even notice them. I'm so put off by her Bitchmove, I skip the diplomacy and reply with:

"I've already ordered my food."

The implication being, What do I do with a plate and saucered mug when they arrive?

But Some Lady digs in. "Well, our bags are already there."

"That's nice," I say. Then I collect my drink and sit down.

I mean, really...f#*k her and her f#*king handbag. You want to share? Fine. You want to call "dibs" at a cafe? You can seriously go f#*k yourself.

So I sit at the end of the table, as planned, and begin working on my audio file. At some point, Some Lady comes to collect her bag, and says something pithy. Tragically, I have my earbuds in - so it's wasted on me. No doubt it was cutting , and will feature prominently in her version of events.

Somehow Some Lady and her manfriend transport a table from the neighboring restaurant and manage to sit down without me.

But f#*k them. This isn't about them. This is about how a moment's respite after a month of total sh!t gets magically transformed into a rant about table dibs because people suck.

I mean, one lousy lunch hour was all I was asking. No fireworks, no magic, just good food, good portable internet, and the luxury of time.

But no, instead I get to vent about bad restaurant flow. About how too few tables leads to bad manners on all sides. How Some Lady is a total witch - her and her bullsh!t handbag. How her mancandy can't be bothered to step in, how...

...or how badly I just need a vacation. I need to go somewhere for a week and not look back. When sh!t this weak can put you over the edge, you know you are on the ledge.

E and thee kids are coming back today and it's just been silly what a hole that leaves in the world. I need to hang out with my kids for about a year solid. We need to do some fun stuff. Not just the necessary evils, but goof off. A lot. We did some of it at the reunion and with E's uncle, but not nearly enough.

We're out of the tunnel these days. I just want to soak up some sun before we go back in.

So, Some Lady? If you're out there - it's nothing personal.

But from the heart - F#*k you.

Sequel

Roger Ebert: We've Seen This Movie Before

Yes.

Yes we have.

The Hits Keep Coming...

Din received a phone call a few days ago. Their contract ends on the 4th.

This time next week - there will be only three of us left.

Nesting, Nesting, 1, 2, 3...

Update Jan 2, 2013: I've added user observations and energy savings after eight months.

A few days before Black Wednesday, my former mentor and I were talking smack about good user interface. Always fun to slag on the stuff that sucks - and let's face it, there's plenty of crap UI out there.

They'd just attended a presentation about the design of the Nest thermostat and were decidedly in the I-need-to-get-me-one-of-THOSE camp.

With the spectre of professional death imminent, I said "If I don't get canned this week, I'm totally getting one."

Well, I didn't get canned. Thus:



Okay, I know what you're thinking: $250 bucks is a lot to spend on a thermostat.

Which it is. I see that now.

At the time I justified this by saying-

1. It's cool. Might as well be up front about that.
2. It's not a toy, it's a household device that should save us money on heat.
3. I might as well get some experience using good user interface for a change. I might learn something.

E's reaction was basically "So, you're saying you need this for work? Ha!"

I suppose I deserved that.

But having done the install and the wireless connection - I can at least give some initial impressions of the Nest as a thermostat, its interface, and my expectations for the long term.

First off, it's hard to ignore the eye-candy of the design. A LOT of work has obviously gone into this product. There are unboxing sites for the Nest. C|net has gone out of their way to review the Nest based on the coolness of its visuals and features.

Installing a thermostat is not something anyone thinks of doing, since your house almost certainly comes with one. Most of us take what we get. Even if we hate what we get enough to replace it - the assumption is that this will require an expert. Nest aims to convince you otherwise.

Physical Installation

A thermostat is pretty much a glorified on/off switch that straddles the bundle of low voltage wires controlling your furnace and air conditioner. Replacing a thermostat is requires separating a bunch of wires from a central switch and re-attaching them to the Nest in the correct places.

That alone ups the cost of entry considerably. So the folks at Nest have instructional video paired with a manual (complete with adhesive labels to keep track of which wire is which). Watch the video, (g'wan) and tell me that didn't look easy.

Now, like any how-to, you're only getting an idealized version in the video. In their video, removing the old thermostat reveals a wall blemish or two that magically vanish around 2:15.

When I remove my old thermostat, I'm treated to a horror show of unpainted and shattered wallboard. Moving the wires causes an avalanche of bits to pour out of the wall. There are - impressively - EIGHT holes beneath my thermostat, each complete with a wall molly that needs to be ripped out - causing more damage.

None of this is Nest's fault - but I'm composing a real world list of things a prospective Nest owner should keep in mind before they buy and attempt the idealized install.

The first two items would be:
1) Make sure your house is compatible with Nest. (I did, and it was)
and
2) Take a picture of your current thermostat's wiring. Make sure you can read any terminal labels. Move wires and take multiple pictures if necessary. Save these pictures on a device that is backed up.

-but the third one would be
3) Expect to spend some time preparing the wall where you will install the Nest.
You will probably need to spackle and paint. If you are buying the Nest for its aesthetic qualities, you might do this before your nest arrives. Once it arrives, you might be too jazzed up to patiently apply two coats of paint and wait for them to dry.

If you boil down the installation process, the Nest folks are bringing a few innovations

• the Install Video. Seeing is believing, and sometimes even comprehending. Every vendor should do this.
   
• the built-in level. Another great idea. When you attach the base to the wall, you can drill the hole with one hand and hold the base level with the other hand. On a regular base install, you'd have had to   make a mark on the wall with a pencil on a separate step. Not really a game changer, but a smart move that shows somebody was thinking. You have to make the built in level actually be perpendicular to the vertical  axis of the base, so I'm sure that was a fun argument in the design discussions.
   Why do we have to do this? People have levels already!
  "Because this makes it easier to do."
   But they only do it once... blah, blah, blah..
  Yeah, I could have done without, but I'm glad they put it in there.
   
• the Wire Labels. Yeah, you could write down that "Yellow wire goes to W1 terminal," but it's so much easier to put a W1 sticker on the wire that goes to W1 on your old thermostat. Later, this allows you to take the wire labelled W1 and plug it into the Nest's W1 terminal. Less opportunity to screw up.

Oh, when I put in the wires? I screwed up.

One of the X factors in the install is that every thermostat is going to have different wires. Different colors, different combinations, and different labels. Or no labels at all. Unless you know which wire is which, you won't know what nifty labels to apply and - more to the point - you won't know where to install them.

My mistake was caused by a brown wire labeled "24V(c)"  This label appears nowhere in the compatibility wizard or on the sheet of wire labels. When I spoke with Nest's compatibility guy he told me this wire was the counterpart to the red wire attached to the "R" terminal - it was the other half of the power loop. Power come in on R. Power go out on 24V(c). Okay, I said. And I wrote that down.

When it came to actually installing the Nest, I had two labels with the letter R on them. One said "Rh" and the other said "Rc" So, I put the Rh label on the red R wire (in my mind, R for red, h for "hot") and the Rc wire on the brown 24V(c) wire (R for "counterpart to R" and c for "(c)").

So when I put all my wires in place, I put the brown Rc wire into the terminal labeled Rc. And when I switched on the power, it no workee.

I called Nest, but their service line is closed when I called (around 11pm), so I googled 24V(c) and found a few mentions of this being a common wire.

This I know, from nothing.

But common begins with the letter C, and I figured, I'd move the Rh/24V(c) wire over to the C slot and see if that did it.

It did.

Power!

Thus we learn:

4) Find out what each of your thermostat wires is and what it does. Write it down. The Nest folks have a great service line for compatibility (they want you to buy, so it's a high priority line.) There's a lot of variation in thermostat wiring, so call them with questions on what each of your wires is and what it does. They recommend emailing their support address with a photo of your wires - something I did and heartily recommend both for the install and for reason #8, below). Ask them what each wire is. Even if they only know a few of them for certain, write those down. Knowing what my other wires were saved me from un-doing correct wires and allowed me to focus on the unknown. If I'd bothered to ask (or had been told) what label my brown 24V(c) wire should have gotten, I would have gotten the physical install in one try.

Initial setup: Orienting the unit.

Once you see Nest's screen fire up, you are immediately proud of yourself. It is very pretty and the interface is iPod cool. Turn the unit left or right, press the unit to click.

My unit wanted to connect to wireless immediately, so I started dialing in my network name (I don't broadcast my SSID). For the thousandth time, I wished I picked a shorter SSID, but dialing letters and numbers into the Nest makes you feel like a safecracker.

Click-click-click-click-click...A
Click-click-click-click-click...R
Click-click-click-click-click...1
and so on.

I was asked my wireless security protocol (None, WEP, WPA or WPA2).

Now this is honestly something I didn't remember. I know, I should. But once you set this up, you don't think of it much. And I seemed to remember mine was none of these.

The Nest failed to connect using any of them, each time requiring me to dial in my lengthy SSID and password. *sigh*

Ultimately, I logged into my router and found out I was using WPA + WPA2. This confused me for a bit, but I went back and dialed in my SSID and password and chose WPA2. And it still failed to connect.

It was about 1 in the morning by this time, so I went to bed.

In the morning, I tried again and it connected immediately. (I was probably tired and fumbling my password before). Anyway, the Nest tried to perform a software upgrade and failed for some reason. It said it would try later, so I pressed on with the setup tasks.

These are mostly "Where am I?" settings. You enter your ZIP code, tell it what type of devices it's connected to (Gas or Oil Furnace, Forced Air A/C) and what mode it should start in (Heat).

And the date and time. That seemed odd, since I was connected to the interwebs - but it's easy enough to enter.

What have we learned?

5) What is your wireless security protocol? If you don't know offhand, visit your router and find out. Write it down.

6) Check to see that your router's firmware is updated. If you have connection issues, this is one of the items on the Troubleshooting Nest's WiFi connection checklist. Updating router firmware is no fun, but you should be doing it. My router last had a firmware upgrade years ago, but I'm ashamed to admit I was out of date. Don't be like me.

6a) Send your router manufacturer hate mail. Only do this if they (like NetGear) have firmware upgrade instructions that say "Write down all of your router settings. Then upgrade and erase them all. Then manually re-enter all of your router settings."

I'm kidding. Upgrade instructions that bad don't merit hate mail. They deserve getting a burning bag of poop.  I digress...

Pairing Nest with your account and Wireless Debugging

In order for Nest to be truly special, it needs to talk to the mothership at Nest.com AND (more importantly) an application on your smartphone/ipad. To do this, you'll need to create an account on Nest.com.

Username/email
Password
Password confirm 

Done.

(And kudos to the design crew for resisting the urge to spam us with marketing fields and defaulted checkboxes with 6-point fonts that say "Please send me crap." I truly appreciate it.)

This gets you halfway. The mothership at Nest.com is ready, now you need your Nest thermostat to generate an Entry Key that you type into your Nest.com account after you've logged in.

When I asked my Nest to generate an Entry Key - it gave me an error message.

Entry key error: Initializing please try again

So I did. And it gave me the same error and told me to try again.
So I did. And it gave me the same error and told me to try again.
So I did. And it gave me the same error and told me to try again.
etc.

This was really starting to annoy me. So I checked in the Network Settings and found my Nest wasn't connected to WiFi. So I re-entered my looong SSID and password *sigh* and tried to generate a key.

Same result.

So I went searching through the Nest's menus and found a Restart option.
Settings>Reset>Restart

Thus have we learned:
7) You can reboot! Perhaps all Windows users believe rebooting has magical powers, but we only think that because it does.

I restarted the Nest and asked it for an entry key. It gave me one.

Ta-dah!


Once I got the unit paired up with the web account - I could download the mobile app and set it up.

I do that, log into the app with email and password and - presto!

Five minutes later, though.... Sadness. It's telling me that my thermostat is disconnected from the web.

I go back to the thermostat and *sigh* re-enter my long SSID. This time it appears to have memorized my password (nice).

I check my mobile app and I'm back online.

Five minutes later, though... Sadness.

At this point - I clearly have an issue that goes beyond basic setup. I call their support line and get the first genuinely poor customer experience so far.

The guy on the phone sounds like he's reading from a script and most of it is aimed at a person with problems upstream of where I am in the process.

I know I've connected to WiFi with the unit. I've seen its MAC address on my router. But the connection doesn't last.

I've checked their list of routers that have connection issues. My router isn't on it.

I get seamless wireless connections in every room in my house. This could be interference, but I am getting connected. Then I'm getting dropped.

Nest support offers me vague advice like setting the wireless "channel" (whatever that is) to 20MHz and buying another router.

Yeah, okay. Thanks. Click.

I scour my router settings for any terms resembling ones the support guy recommended trying. I find none of them.

Eventually I blunder across a setting whose bullet summary suggests can help with devices getting interference. I try it and it seems to work.

I'll post it if continues to work, but as of this writing - it's too early to be sure.

The connection has stayed up all night and all day, but until I've gotten a week at least with no hiccups, I wouldn't call this solved.

I have a good deal of sympathy for Nest support folks trying to diagnose wireless connection issues on an ever-expanding list of routers for people who (in all likelihood) know next to nothing about wireless routers.

Still, as it is an essential part of setting up the advanced features of Nest, they should do better. The online help they have should be turned into a diagnostic wizard or flowchart so users can be routed through the likeliest fixes before getting routed to support reps.

The unit should have diagnostic codes that it can display so the techs ask the user to read error codes or signal strength measurements to them. There's a lot of room for making that user experience better.

---

While I was initially griping about the irony of installing a new thermostat at a time when the weather is damn near perfect outside (all geeked up and nothing to heat or cool) - it occurs to me that there is a definite upside. I don't think I'd want to install a new thermostat during a cold spell - when I absolutely had to have heat. Debugging the install is frustrating enough when I don't care if the fan runs or the heat is on.

Just because the Nest folks have made thermostat installation a lot easier and comprehensible doesn't mean they've made it a change that should be made casually.

Which leads me to the last thing on the list of things I like to think I've learned:

Changing a thermostat involves disabling a critical home system temporarily - potentially for longer than you expect.

And thus, I add to the list:

8) If the thermostat you're replacing was functional, save it. Put your old thermostat in a ziploc bag with all its parts and store it somewhere safe and accessible. New technology is awesome and all, but one thing lost in the promo materials and the rush to install awesomeness is this: A thermostat is a critical piece of your home systems. If it doesn't work, you will not be able to heat or cool your home. In the summer, you can open windows and use fans, but if there is a serious problem with the the Nest when it's below freezing - having a backup thermostat will allow you time to wait for tech support without risking damage to your pipes.

---

Which is not to say I'm disappointed in my Nest. Quite the contrary.

• I am thoroughly in love with the idea of a programmable thermostat that has modern user interface.
• I love that the Nest and its helper application can be updated and enhanced after they are installed.
• I love that I will be able to monitor and track my energy usage over time.
• I love being able to monitor and control my heating and cooling from anywhere (even if it's just from my bed)

Nest's marketing material points out over and over again that around 90% of programmable thermostats aren't programmed correctly. A good chunk of the energy savings they're bragging on relies on the difference between a constant temperature and their easily programmed alternative.

Well, I'm not going to realize a lot of that savings because I did program my old thermostat.

I absolutely hated my old thermostat - despite its virtues:

• already installed/paid for
• 7 day programming
• reliable
• a battery to retain data 

Why? because it was absolutely murder to interact with. 

I'd programmed a varied schedule to save energy based on the four days of our schedule that were regular. But for the other three days I picked a temp and held it. Partly because on those days, our needs would vary - but also because adjusting and readjusting to find a better setting was too much of a pain.

I did four days and then gave up and said "good enough." The fact that the hassle would probably be worth it did nothing to nullify the fact it was a hassle.

Adjusting the program with the Nest is not a hassle. It is the opposite of hassle. It's fun to play with.

Good user interface leads to more interaction. With the Nest, I expect to refine my settings for the remaining three days AND take advantage of a system smart enough to switch off when I'm gone.

Plus, I get data so I can improve and refine over time.

Plus, it really does look cool.

Update Jan 2, 2013: I've added user observations and energy savings after eight months.

Decimation

Okay, lets say you're at your desk and you have the following information:

One -  A lot of people in your area are being laid off today
Two - People are being notified in person, then walked out of the building with a box of belongings;
and
Three - Not a hell of a lot else

That's a short list. Guaranteed to provoke your stressed mind into demanding more information.

Plenty of people are willing to fill that need with crap:

"...100 people are being let go."
"...They're going to do this every year."
"...I heard security is watching the parking lot in case people go postal."

Most of this noise is un-sourced nonsense that has no bearing on the situation at hand - Have I been canned? - so it's easy to filter out.

But people have been told to wait at their desks, and

Idle + anxiety = bull$h!t factory. 

 Pretty soon, some truly irresponsible stuff starts making the rounds.

I'm told definitively that my boss has been sacked. This does not seem likely, but (because I am stupid) I repeat this nonsense to someone else. My original source returns and rattles off the names of others who will soon be shown the door.

At which point, sanity returns and I realize that this person is full of crap. They certainly could find out who has been sacked, but there's no way in hell they're getting their hands on a list of future ex-employees. Which makes me question their original information - and think myself a dork for getting caught up in the guessing game.

As sucky as it is, we'll know when we'll know.

The team I've been on has been through several purges in the past. We were once over 20 people strong. Three weeks ago we were 9. When Black Wednesday started, we were 8.

We used to be a cohesive team, too. But the re-organization split us into essentially a core group of 4 (who I'll call Apok, Friday, Isis and Murdock) and the rest of us (myself, Ruby, Stimpy, and Din) operating more or less independently.

Friday's been predicting the end for so long, most of us have tuned them out. They'd predicted massive head-rolling back when the new secure doors were put in - and nothing happened.

This time, people are walking in the halls with boxes and Friday's stopped predicting the end, they've started preparing for it. They're emailing personal contact information to everyone on the team "just in case." I read the group's relative anxiety level in their response time.

Apok is first. I've worried about them. They've been outwardly cheerful, but clearly under a lot of strain. 

Isis is second. That's a surprise. No way they're in danger, though. Isis is one of those pros you just want to shadow so you can learn how to be awesome. They're only replying fast because efficiency is a habit. True, the managers aren't involved in the layoff decisions - but Isis is in the clear. Bank on it.

Murdock doesn't even reply. I take that as a sign of confidence. Murdock has a unique skillset and knows it. What's more, they've probably done the math on the expected number of cuts vs. the size of our division. "The numbers they're talking amount to one in ten," they've pointed out more than a few times. "That's bad, but the odds are still in our favor."

One in ten... No need to panic, folks...

Then come Ruby, Stimpy, and Din. They're like me, independents. We're not permanent staff, which normally would put us more at risk - but this time around the signs are inverted. Stimpy was hired a week ago, which I took as a bad sign for permanent staff. If consultants are coming in before a layoff...

I reply directly to Friday's personal email, which in retrospect makes the group think I didn't reply at all, but I was hardly thinking straight at the time. I was getting an earful of BS from some passerby. A huddle was forming - and I figured this was as much as I could stand.

I need Murdock to do something for me, so I email them and ask if they'll have time later in the afternoon. They reply almost immediately - they're out of the office, but I should set something up for tomorrow.  

What a day to be out... still, you miss all the stupid.

I walk out of the office and get some coffee. At the elevators, some older woman is holding a box next to her chaperon. She's loudly telling a colleague that she's happy to go. "It's finally over with. I'm fine..." I wonder if she's fronting or truly relieved. To me, getting canned should be private. You shouldn't have to be brave or explain yourself. You should just be gone and leave an email.

I can't bring myself to share the elevator, lest this person be forced to explain to me how this doesn't bother her. I just want some coffee...

One the way back, I opt to swing by my boss's office. Nothing like hard information. I've been told repeatedly that they are gone. If that's so, they won't be there. Shine light on the BS, it will go away.

I'm taking the long route - so I go by Apok's desk. They're there, talking to someone.

No. Not talking to. Being watched by.

-as they stand over an empty box.

Apok smiles and gives me an impromptu wave.

What do you do??!

You go over, you can't help it. You give them a hug and say "Good luck." I feel absolutely gutshot for them. They crushed their last project, and now this? Soon as I speak the words, I realize I've overstayed. Apok's minder will want them to keep moving. I don't even look at the minder. I back off and wave, "See ya."

So utterly inadequate.

I leg it down towards my boss's office. They're still in there, shoving papers around and talking with someone who looks crestfallen. I blow past and head for the elevator. The boss is still here. The rumormill is so full of it.

I swing back to my project's turf. I need to tell Din about Apok. Din's got a visitor, but it's a social call. Unfortunately, it's a social call just like mine.

I'm telling Din about Apok, that I spoke to Apok and they told me they were gone. This is fact not rumor.

Din's visitor tells us both that Isis is gone.  Sonofab!tch. Isis. NoF*ckinWay.

I grill the source, but it's for real. The visitor's been asked to pull some of Isis's stuff for them. Stuff that wouldn't fit in the one box they had ready.

Goddamn.

The idle staffers around us stop eavesdropping and begin announcing how they've been packed for weeks now, how if the worst happens, they'll be ready-

I leave. Hell with this.

I need to talk to Friday. My IM's down, so I fire off an email. "You still here? Cos I'm here..." I'm kidding, they're at their desk, like everybody else.

Only they don't respond.

I could walk to their desk, but get serious. It's email, and they could be in the bathroom.

I forcibly re-start IM and check Friday's status:

Offline for 1 hour.

Not Away. Offline. Their computer is off.

I check Apok's IM status:

Offline for 1 hour.

Isis:

Offline for 1 hour.

It's not hard data, but while I'm sitting there my cube-mate comes in and says "What was the name of your colleague who used to be in our morning stand up meetings?"

I rattle off the name of a former consultant.

"No, not them. The other one who helped them out."

"Friday."

"I just saw them in the hallway carrying a box."

FuckFuckFuck.

Cube-mate tries to walk it back. "They could be escorting someone.."

Which is a fun hope to entertain, but we both know that Friday isn't a manager and only managers are escorting people out.

Three out of eight is a hell of a lot more than one out of ten.

My cell phone rings. I don't recognize the number and send it to voicemail. And then it occurs to me this could be a call I need to take.

I play the voicemail and hear my account rep talking-

Oh, sh!t.

--No. Not my account rep. Some recruiter calling to see how I'm doing. They obviously know what's going on. And while they're saying "How are you?" what they're really asking is "will you be interested in applying for one of the positions I'm paid to staff?"

In the normal run of things, a consultant would be let go before they came to work. By phone, usually by their account rep. The fact that I got into the building I'd taken as a good sign. But absolutely nothing about today is the normal run of things.

While I'm decompressing, a manager pops in to ask innocent questions and my cube-mate and I both look behind them for someone with a box. But they are alone.

Hell with this. I need to do some work. I test out some fixes to something I screwed up the day before.  Which reminds me I need to set up a meeting for Thursday afternoon.

My counterpart (who unlike me, is an actual developer) needs to sit in on a review - and I keep forgetting to include them in the invites. So I do them first.

Then I do Murdock.

Absent-mindedly. But the name doesn't take. The Exchange server is chronically unreliable, so when it hangs I just get irritated.

Then I pull a past email from Murdock and check their Outlook properties.

Everything's blank except the display field. It shows Murdock's mail has been routed to an administrator.

This is insane. Nobody can do what Murdock does. They're not even here today...

Murdock's boss is different from mine, and they're definitely gone. Maybe this is part of a re-organization. Maybe they're not...

Stimpy confirms it. They saw Murdock's stuff getting boxed up. People taking his laptop.

Rumormill's telling me Ruby's gone, too - but when I check Outlook they're still listed. Rumormill? Still full of it.

I check the rest of us, Din & Stimpy. Outlook still knows us.

I'm assuming that's a good sign...

I'm contacted by external sources telling me - again - that my boss is gone. I check Outlook and find them.Does no one think before they say these things??

Almost in the same instant, my boss sends a meeting request to Ruby, Din, Stimpy and I. It's for the following morning.

It's a confirmation of sorts. The five of us will survive until tomorrow at least.

The day ends with people guiltily celebrating their continued existence.

**************
The following day, I'm going in and I see Murdock by the security desk. Probably waiting to pick up their stuff. As I spent part of yesterday trying to secure Murdock's laptop so we could use its unique software - I'm too ashamed to even say hi. I slip by and head for the meeting room.

Everyone's there early and too nervous for chit-chat.

The meeting with the boss ends up being a statement of the obvious. "We've decided to staff this need with consultants."

My boss informs us that the rumor of his demise spread all the way to their spouse. Someone actually called my boss's home to ask if they were still employed. When they were informed that, yes - my boss still had their job - they insisted they'd heard otherwise.

Who does that kind of crap? Wait 'til the dust settles, eh?

The news is brief, and as we start deteriorating into gossip, the boss ends the meeting.

We file out and collectively exhale.

Four of us.

The Smell of Fear

They announced it months ago.

We will lay off 100 people in your division in May.

They then nullified traditional causes for hope, like past performance, or professional relationships.

Your managers will not take part in these decisions.

Then they said nothing.

For months.

Some clues escaped  - the grapevine informed everyone that managers were being given training on how to usher people out of the building. Given the scope of the cuts, it would not be possible for some managers to escort all their dismissed employees in a timely fashion.

So they’d need help.

People in our division were then told that on the appointed day (whenever it should occur) all meetings would be cancelled and everyone was to wait at their desk until the work day ends or they are fired – whichever comes first.

There’s been a lot of speculation as to when that day is. The assumption has been that it would be soon and on a Thursday – because a lot of staff take alternating Fridays off.

Makes sense. Totally plausible.

Badly sourced, though.

And wrong.

I’m coming in the building watching our product owner exiting the building with someone I don’t know. They’re carrying a banker’s box.  The unknown staffer is carrying an assortment of bags. They look grim.

But it’s Wednesday…

I convince myself they’re headed to a trade show. I’ve done the trade show thing and no doubt carried a similar expression at the time.

I’ve forgotten my badge, naturally. So I go to reception and there’s a new procedure for getting in.  It takes forever, and I’m worried if I’m going to make my morning meeting on time.

In the hall I see one of my favorite clients. She gives a thumbs down signal to me – and I have a momentary fear that she’s on her way out – but no.

“It’s today,” she says, “they started at 8.”

She doesn’t need to explain what is happening. It’s been the first and last topic of every meeting for the past month. It’s been the reason 20-year veterans are too stressed to focus and spend hours just praying they'll get a severance package.

I go to my desk thinking – This is just perception. Rumors have been flying for days and the human mind can only stand so much suspense.

It was just a person carrying a box…

I get to my desk and see my inbox is flooded with meeting cancellations.

…all meetings will be cancelled.

I do a once around the pods to make sure people I know are still here – then back to my desk.

And here I sit, waiting for the end – or the end of the day.

Like a good little soldier.

A1C

I love my iPhone.

To a truly embarrassing degree. This would be true regardless of my current status as a type II diabetic, but post-diagnosis, it is no exaggeration to say that my iPhone is an essential part of my daily routine.

On Monday morning, around 7am, my phone will remind me that it is time to test my blood sugar. Later in the day, I'll log into Couch-to-5K and head out for a run.

I could do all of these things pre-phone, but having a device that reminds and records these events (with snappy UI) makes them considerably more enjoyable.

More enjoyable = more likely to occur.

Now, testing reminders could be handled by the blood glucose meter itself - the thing is basically a clock that also logs inputs of blood - but there's a very basic reason why I don't use the meter to do this.

Here's a picture of my meter:

There are three inputs:

1. The M button
2. The C button
3. The place where you put in your test strip.

If I'm to get a good sampling of what my blood sugars are doing, I"m supposed to do daily tests that vary from day to day.

Task: Set seven different alarms - that repeat on the same day, each week - using an LED screen and two buttons.

The reward for this is having your meter beep at you at the specified time in the annoyingly tinny way cheap electronics have. If you're away from it at the time, you'll just miss it - oops. Too bad.

Setting digital clocks using two buttons is sucky. Setting digital dates using two buttons is worse. And obviously doing both seven times over is worse yet.

Rather like writing a book one letter at a time by signalling to an assistant with your eyelid. Sure, it's been done, but nobody wants that kind of motivation.

But over and above the entry suckage is this: one day, having endured all that pain and plugged your schedule into your meter using Morse code, you finish breakfast and remember that you were supposed to test before you ate. What happened to your reminder? You look down and see that your meter thinks the current day is Friday. Also, it insists that the current time is 9:18pm.

Yes, another of the (many) downsides of having only two input buttons is that one of them is the power button AND the button you hold down to put the meter into setup mode. Holding down a button for a few seconds isn't easy to do by accident - unless you say, put the meter in your pocket and sit down.

Once you've put pressure on the M button for awhile, perhaps your weight shifts a few times (M, M....M.....M) and you've toggled the setup control to the day of the week. Shift again and you've hit the C button and suddenly it's not Monday anymore...(C, C.....C) morning becomes evening. Time travel realized...!

And all of your careful programming is worthless now, and while you could go back and fix it, why would you want to?

Plus, assuming I get all this sorted out and manage to not sit on my meter - by doing something like leaving my meter in my coat pocket. This decreases the likelihood that I'll be around to hear the damn thing beep at me. Missed it? Oh well.

So I'm using my phone - something I carry and look at regularly. It also allows for easy entry of complex inputs.

My current scheduler of choice is Orchestra.
I tried my calendar app, but immediately realized I don't want my testing events to blackout my calendar.

Orchestra's UI is awesome. There's a very satisfying feeling in checking things off the list, plus reminders persist on the screen, so if I happened to (the horror!) be away from my phone during the second it beeped at me - I'd return to a phone with a reminder front and center on the home screen.

Score one for good UI.

Which brings me to Couch-to-5K, the other bit of life altering software. If you'd have told me even a year ago, that I'd be running 3 miles over lunch hour - I'd have laughed in your face.

Today I did over three miles. And it felt good.

Which is the polar opposite of where I was when the Parrot guy was asking if I wanted to go running over a year ago.

And yes, its fair to say my motivation has changed dramatically since then, but Couch-to-5K allows its users to offload a lot of the unknowns:

-How long should I run for to start with?
-How often should I run?
-How did I do? (How fast? How far?)

It logs past performance in a way that is visually appealing (plotting your route on a map) and allows you to review what you've accomplished.

And you get to check things off. I love checking things off.

Week 9 run 2. Done. Whoo hoo!

-----

But all of this reminding and logging was in service to a larger goal. Getting my blood sugar under control. Because it was way the hell out of control. My last blood draw was in December. Normal glucose levels are around 70-99 milligrams per deciliter - I was at 320. Worse, I had an A1C of 12.8% (not 12.7% like I'd put in a prior post).

The A1C samples your blood cells to see how much glucose is stuck to them. Your blood cells die off and get replaced over time - and it is possible to separate these cells into groups for testing based on how old they are.

Each group of cells can then be evaluated for its glucose content, which allows you to calculate an average glucose content across each group. Meaning you can get an average over time using a single blood draw.

Slick.

A normal A1C test should run between 4% and 6%. I was more than double the high end of the range. The A1C percentage can be converted into an estimated mg/dL and that math turns my 12.8% into me averaging a glucose level of 320 mg/dL over two three months.

I'm sure that factored into my new-found motivation to get off my butt and check my blood regularly.

But again, anything that makes those tasks easier, makes it more likely that those tasks will in fact happen.

I've been testing, I've been running. The phone apps have helped a lot. But my last A1C was in December. And a scheduled testing regimen is more than capable of falling prey to human tendencies.

The simplest being: If there's a dessert in the house that I want, I don't eat it until after I test for the day. Less simple: The Sunday and Monday tests are grouped close together. If I'm good on Sunday night, I can net two good scores to my average for the week.

And so on.

But the A1C will not be fooled. If you've been good at test time and bad all the time in between, your hemoglobin will catch you out. It accumulates glucose from all the intervals of the past months - regardless of when you chose to stick your finger.

So it's more or less the report card. And I've been dreading it, because I can think of every dessert I've had since December. Every impulse snack food. Every time I wanted to "treat myself."

And I've been wondering what they all add up to.

So when I get the email that tells me my results are in - my first thought is Grades are in.

I log in like a mad man.

    HEMOGLOBIN A1C     6.3%

    ESTIMATED AVERAGE GLUCOSE  134 mg/dL

            Standard Range 4.0 - 6.0 %

I spend a good long time looking at the screen before I go back to work.

Still smiling as I type this, too.

The Walking Dead

Today I spoke with a Zombie.

They came into the office as usual, late and flustered. They cheerily said hello and set to work as they used to do while they were still alive.

But they weren’t. I know this because one who was complicit in the Zombie’s death stopped by to tell me the other day.

“Gonna have to get used to sitting alone in here for awhile,” they said – in an I-know-something kind of voice. I wasn’t even that surprised. The signs of corporate death begin long before the actual event – in the right proximity, these things are downright obvious.

And slow.

There is no good reason why a life altering decision like this should be dragged out, but CorpWorld has procedures that prolong beyond people’s capacity to keep their mouths shut. And so – we have Zombies.

In the preceding weeks, I was asked for my opinion on the Zombie by management. Twice.

I like the Zombie – and said so, they are genuinely likeable in all sorts of ways. But I also said that when confronted with interpersonal problems, they crafted personal solutions instead of professional ones. Tempting as it always is to go for the win, in CorpWorld you’re usually better off sorting out what is needed to get the task done. Forget ego, forget pride, forget even common sense. Do the job.

Grind out the work – and much will be permitted. Delay work, repeatedly, and you will be asked to explain yourself.

To any resident of CorpWorld, this is a sign.  Paperwork is wending its way towards the kill.

When things get that bad, it can be very difficult to keep your professional composure. Your value to the company is being questioned. They are asking you to do something that makes no sense. And it’s not like you’re the only problem here– how can they not see that? But while the Explain Yourself meeting is asking you a question – there is only one correct answer: “I see your point, and I will do what you ask.”

Anything less leads to corporate death.

I was out when the Zombie was asked to explain themselves. They did not keep their composure. There was a genuine scene and a good deal of yelling.

CorpWorld does not like yelling.

And so a likeable person transformed from co-worker to Zombie.

They will be told their fate in a few days, but as an increasing number of their co-workers learns the truth – and are summarily sworn to silence – mundane office interactions now occur on tenterhooks. We don’t ask for their input -  what’s the point? No one listens to their daily report-out or follows up on any questions they ask.

We wonder how much they know. We wonder if any change in behavior has made their fate blindingly obvious. We wonder what we would do in their place if we came to that realization.

What would you do?

While I’m sure there are lots of TV-inspired reactions – but the likeliest to me would be to feign ignorance and collect the paycheck for however long you had left. On the appointed day, you’d just be gone.

Behind me, the Zombie types and clicks away, occasionally making small talk and looking wearier than usual.

I go through the motions of a normal day - and they do the same.

And we’ll both do this until the appointed hour of their corporate death.

Willful Child

For some reason, I've taken a perverse amount of pride in the fact that I stopped napping when I around two years old. There’s more than a small bit of irony there – these days I’d kill for a good nap.

“A willful child,” my parents called me – when I was around to hear them. I’m sure at other times they used other words.

But when my dad would describe me sitting in my crib shaking the rungs and screaming at him – I’d find myself cheering for the former me. Yeah! Give him what for!

I supposed this was in no small measure because that little guy in the crib could carry the day in a way I never managed when I was older.

I don’t recall a lot of knockdown, drag-out arguments with dad. There was simply an understanding that once he’d weighed in on something – that was pretty much how it was going to go.

I vaguely remember dad carrying me down the hall by my belt loop when I was in first grade. I’ve always associated that memory with a spanking (itself a singular event), but thinking about it now I honestly can’t be sure the two events happened together. But I have no other memories of physical discipline from childhood.

In our house, discipline was mental.

Mom practiced a kind of parental judo that resulted in her kids unknowingly doing what she wanted all along.

Dad would usually take the direct approach – and while I should have more than a few memories of getting a full dressing down by my father – they’ve all seemed to blur together into a general sense that crossing dad was a very bad idea.

What’s interesting to me are the milestones I do remember – wearing the ratty jeans my father expressly forbid me to wear and remaining home when the family went to the beach, despite my father’s angry insistence that I go.

Two wins for my side.

Memorable for lots of reasons, but largely because of the basic fact that two is a number that can be remembered.

I couldn’t possibly remember a number for the loss column. The times I was browbeaten, shamed, or intimidated into doing what dad ordered me to do.  Uncountable moments – most of them trivial, surely – but innumerable moments of substance where my stubbornness gave way to my father’s.

Just do what he wants.

Which is not to say dad was a cruel man.  He wasn’t. But it took a long time to realize that he wasn’t just this inhuman thing meeting out justice and punishment.

One of the reasons I am sure my dad spanked me was a time mom told me dad cried after spanking me. The idea that dad would cry at all was unthinkable. That he would question his treatment of his kids doubly so.

One of the things dad always did that annoyed me was this pretend fighting he’d do. He’d get into a mock boxing stance and tag me once or twice in the shoulder, baiting me. “C’mon,” he’d say – clearly inviting me to try to land a few practice blows on him.

I never did.

Try, that is. By the time this game started, the idea of swinging at my dad was completely alien to me. You don’t cross dad. Despite this being a game – I remember wondering what would happen if I did join in. Would he hit me for real? Would he expect me to hit him for real? It made no sense to me.

My refusal to join in was always met with a disappointed look on dad’s face. I always took this to mean that dad wished I was more athletic. That I let him down, again.

For awhile dad would invite me to help him work on the cars or in his woodshop – but his insistence on correcting everything I did made it impossible to feel like I was anything other than in his way. I have vivid memories of tightening a bolt on the car as hard as I could – and then my dad re-tightening it afterwards. Dad did everything – the only thing I was allowed to do was hold the lamp while he worked.

As I got older, I tried to stay out of his way more.

Surely some of that was just being a teen ager. I wanted to do what I wanted to do, and dad and I shared very few interests. He was always out fixing something, or mowing, or building, or any number of constructive things that I regarded as nothing but a pain in the ass.

I’m sure some of my enduring hatred of yard work comes from the numerous arguments that resulted in me weeding or raking – or any of the other pointless things he’d ordered me to do.

The obvious irony is that what little handyman work I’ve done around my house is because dad dragged me along on his projects and taught me what he knew. That time we put in the bathroom in my old house taught me a ton about wiring and plumbing  - stuff that I’ve drawn on as I’ve struggled with my new house.

Mostly what I’ve drawn on was the realization that my own obstinance could be a resource to get things done. And I realized that was a good part of dad’s method as well. Once he started something, quitting became almost impossible. It’s not that he knew all the things he needed going into a job – it’s that he knew whatever came up could be dealt with. As long as you put in the work.

I remember a thawing in the cold formality dad and I had manufactured between us. Roles had changed somewhat and old patterns gained new context.

When the boy was born, I got to see a whole new side of my father. How he delighted in playing with my boy. My dad – playing. Dad wanted the boy to have everything.  Had us send him photos of these little chairs we liked so he could make them.

I’m sure it’s not chronologically accurate, but the last memory I have of seeing my dad is outside my last job. Dad was dropping me off at work for some reason and was about to head for the interstate. He made a point – a very obvious point – of telling me how proud he was of me. It was such an odd thing for him to say at the time, but I stammered out a “thanks,” and waved at him.

And then he was gone.

I’ve thought a lot about that day in the past few years. Not so much that dad said he was proud of me, but of how urgent it was to him that he say so. Almost like he’d been chastised. He seemed sincere, but almost apologetic. “I’m sorry I hadn’t said this…”

Thinking of him in his last few years, there were other moments like that I’d missed at the time – but they were lesser copies of that last moment.  Wanted you to know this, son…

This was dad in quite a new light. A dad trying to relate. Struggling, even.

This was not a word I would normally apply to him in any context. If there was a problem interacting with dad, it had to be mine.

But here he was, talking up my writing to other family members – conspicuously being supportive to an adult son too clueless to even realize what was going on.

But now I know. And I think – at long last – I get it.

I hear my dad come out of my mouth so often these days – I can practically see him in the mirror. There was a time I would say that with pride – but the parts I see and hear are the very things that made me avoid him as a kid.

Yelling at my son for ridiculous things – things he should know better – but things that certainly don’t require a screaming lecture.

Pick your battles, I’ve always heard, but win them. Well I’ve picked, fought and won. Then stood in the ashes of my victory wondering what it was all for.

Everybody talks about the time you hear yourself sound like your parent – but nobody prepared me for watching myself appear in the guise of my son.

My son is a willful child. And he is the son of a willful child.

One who was taught that you keep going until you win.

And I have won. Time and time again. I have prevailed in contests so foolish you would question my sanity. You will do this. Even if you fight it. Because battles joined - must be won.

And I’ve see my boy cringe under a pillow because he can’t face me. I’ve yelled at him for something he has no answer for – so he’ll hide. Or glower silently up at me like I did thousands of times. I will stand here and defy you. I will refuse to answer. Because otherwise you win.

And I think back on years of inadequacy. Feeling certain – absolutely certain – that I would always be less than dad wanted – and I want to swoop down on my boy and save him from his total jerk of a father.

My boy is wonderful. And I’ve managed to force him into the same nervous shell I had as a child.

Yes, he does need to sit up straight, use his napkin, and all that. But first he needs to know that he’s wonderful.

We send our kids into the wider world with the tools we give them – and I cannot rob my son of his self respect and expect him to thrive.

I have to learn to forget about winning battles. Keeping score is just a different way of losing.

Waiting until he's grown and married... that's not fair to anyone.

Stay Hungry

Bit of catching up is in order.

First off, the boy’s leg is cast-free. He’s limping around on a leg that doctors assure us is doing fine – but I’m still waiting to see him run around like the wild little boy he deserves to be. He needs to do more and being cooped up with his family isn’t doing him a lot of good. He comes from an indoor-kid family, so I suppose it’s a bit much to expect him to turn into an extreme athlete – but I want him outside and throwing things. Soon.

Following December’s developments, I’ve necessarily plunged into the habits of a person with type II diabetes. I test my blood sugar with a meter that is astoundingly easy to use (the Freestyle Freedom Lite).

As a UI snob, I can attest to the quality of its workflow:

1. Add needle
2. Insert test strip
3. Stick finger
4. Apply blood to test strip
5. Pitch needle and test strip

Everything else is done by the machine.

Notice there were no steps to turn on and turn off the machine. Someone was thinking.

Not that I think this meter is particularly special, mainly I’m just impressed at how not an issue this process is.

The quibbles I have are fairly minor. The needle tool resembles a vending machine toy in quality of manufacture. The side seams look as if they are about to separate at any moment. The depth setting changes each time I get it out of the kit – so it’s always a double check to make sure it hasn’t dialed up to 4 (maximum needle depth) when 1 or 2 is sufficient for my office worker hands.

I don’t expect they put a lot of work into the needle tool – after all, they give these things away – and the bulk of their work goes into the meter. You break the needle tool and they’ll give you another for free. Everyone knows they make their money on the test strips.

The test strips are about 1 to 2 bucks a pop (pre-insurance). As you’ll be using them multiple times a day for the rest of your life, the meter manufacturers figure they can spot you the start up gear for free - many times over.

The strips degrade in open air so you get them in a sealed container. A single, sealed container – which would be another quibble I have. You buy a month’s worth of strips at a time. If you biff it when you pop the lid open - you could dump over a hundred bucks worth of product all over the floor of whatever public bathroom you happen to be in.

They should have a better dispenser – one that spits out one at a time – or (more simply) provide them in multiple containers so you put less of them at risk at any one time.

But overall, the easiest adjustment I’ve had to make – by far.

The more dramatic changes have obviously been with food. Quality and quantity.

Quantity I view as the easier of the two. At least at first. It would be very hard to continue eating the amounts I had been eating before. Breakfast amounted to two meals. Lunch was at least a meal and a half. Dinner was two meals, plus something afterwards before bed.

Laughable, all of it - but only in hindsight. At the time it was like, I feel like eating - I'll eat. Diabetes is particularly insidious as it has a number of effects that make you hungry. Your food becomes fuel, but your body isn't delivering the fuel efficiently. So your muscles and other cells tell your body they need more fuel.

So you feel hungry. And eat more. Which makes your body store the extra fuel as fat. More body fat makes your body's insulin function less effectively - leading to poorer use of the fuel you eat.  Poor use of fuel leads to cells demanding more energy, so you feel hungry, and off we go again.

Diabetes can lead to depression and fatigue, all of which play into doing less and eating more. Which is exactly the opposite of what a person with diabetes should be doing.

Any wonder why there are over 20 million cases in the US alone? Cripes, who designed this damn disease anyway?

So, I'm cutting back on portions. They are visible and tangible. I like to think I'm doing a lot better on this.

Food quality is a bit more mercurial. I need to know what's in the food I eat. Sometimes you have no idea - somebody else made it, I can't find an equivalent breakdown online.

So you go to classes where they break down what food is made of what.  

Carbohydrates, gotta watch the carbs.

I'm given a guideline on how much of them I should have over the course of the day.

Then you have to read serving sizes and count grams. Naturally cereal has different serving sizes because they vary by weight. One cereal is 1 cup per serving, the next is 3/4 a cup, the next 1/2 cup. Apples to apples requires math and then you have to set and remember a visual benchmark about how big a cup looks in a given container.

3oz is a standard serving size they want you to track on. About the size of a pack of playing cards. Depending on density. Blah, blah, blah...

I've opted to start with the basics. Half my plate should be veg, 1/4 carbs, 1/4 protein. Easier to remember, easier to visualize.

So long as I keep myself to a single plate. I'm sure to be better off than I was. I'll refine with math once I can sustain a sane eating pattern.

Plus, I get meds. Metformin once a day. I've had to renew a pill perscription for the first time in my life. Bleah.

Over and above that is activity level. I've fallen off the running wagon, but have every intention of getting back out there. In the meantime, I spend about a half an hour each weekday legging it around the concourse like a speedwalking senior.

I'm walking in a circle so I can live longer.

But that's the honest truth. Life expectancies for the average Type II diabetic are well short of where I want to be. Being diagnosed at my age means I will have to behave myself for decades. Have to start now and keep it up - there is no other option.

I am not losing limbs to this bullsh!t.

Early results have been encouraging. But I would think they would be at my age. My blood sugar's averaging around 118 these days, and I'm down more than a few pounds. It is depressing in the extreme to think I will have to become a scale addict. "What do I weigh?" But the reality is I need to know that I'm trending in the right direction. My dietician gave me numbers to hit and I need to believe I can hit them.

Insulin is produced by beta cells in the pancreas - and they always degrade over time. What I have now is the most I will ever have - and I can't afford to burn them up like I've been doing.

Which leads to a total rewrite of how I've looked at food. I've of course known what eating healthy required - but I've never regarded food with fear before.

A coworker of mine offered me a peanut butter bar the other day and I reflexively accepted it. Then I took it home and threw it away. Pre-diagnosis, I would have eaten it before I left their desk, and perhaps asked for another.

Now, I find myself glaring at the frustrating omnipresence of baked goods at work. Chocolates and snacks, everywhere. Every business sells food these days - and none of it is on the happy list.

My sister in law told me once that you never forget the first time your body lets you down - and sometime in the future my pancreas and I are going to have some serious words. But for now I've got to baby it, every day, for the rest of my damn life.

Jen tells me plenty of people find themselves living healthier with diabetes than they ever did without it. I suppose that makes a bit of sense. The feedback on a day of pre-diagnosis overindulgence would take years. At that rate, you'd never connect the dots.

Post diagnosis, I find out within hours when I've strayed from the true faith. We had a baking contest at work and I had two small slices of pie. My blood sugar was stratospheric three hours later. What's bad for me hasn't changed - but now I get graded one or two times a day.

Feedback on that timetable can occupy a conscious thought. A thought you can draw on when you're staring at a coffin-sized display of snacks at the gas station. 

And until my body magically adjusts to the new regime, I will have to get used to wanting things I can't have- or wanting more and not getting it.

Thirsty

I don't think of myself as a hypochondriac, but lately I've begun to realize that I need more distractions in my life.

Dead idle and getting older - you start thinking about every new ache like its the beginning of something terrible.

That's new, you think as your arm starts to twang. You waste a few brain cycles coming up with the most sensational reasons why it might be acting up, then move on to worrying about your eating habits.

The other day, I ate two Italian beef sandwiches for lunch.

I mean, that's messed up. Not exactly the largest amount of food I've eaten, but a good indication that when I'm enjoying what I'm eating - I keep eating. This is totally at odds with my stated goal of being more active - so I waste a few brain cycles on worrying why I might be doing this.

One of the byproducts of sleep apnea is increased appetite. Which is downright evil, since eating more can narrow your throat opening - leading to less airflow and less sleep and (naturally) a body screaming for more calories.

Am I not sleeping enough? But I know I am - because I'm dreaming. Dreams are my benchmark for R.E.M. sleep - and I'd been dreaming plenty.

Which leads to the inevitable conclusion that I've simply grown accustomed to eating more - and need to dial it way the hell back.

Any time I'm thinking of hitting the cafe for a snack - I opt for the water bottle. I slug down a bottle or two of water and I figure I'm doing myself more good than a latte and a pack of Reeses.

Makes you feel almost virtuous. I'm just having water, thanks. But I drink like I eat - fast - and you feel pretty odd lingering over the water fountain wishing the water flow was a hell of a lot faster. I want what I want - and a lot of it.

Once, I started drinking out of work's slow fountain as a co-worker went into the restroom.  I was still drinking after they came out. We have the newer handicapped-accessible fountains, so they're very low - so drinking at them for any length of time makes the blood slosh down to your head.

You pop up from an extended drink like that an your head looks like you've been out in the sun. My co-worker glared at me for a moment and said, "You okay?"

As drinking necessarily causes you to hold your breath, I responded like a person surfacing from a long dive. Gasp "I'm fine." Gasp, gasp.

Try to do something good for yourself - end up looking like a bit of a goober.

I'd fallen off the running circuit, too. Not really helping myself - but I'd spent a lot of lunch hours running around looking for hardware to fix our destroyed bathroom. I'll get back on the horse, but y'know - not today. But you think about it - when you're on the scale - or every time you look at your running gear sitting in the trunk like a vengeful accuser.

******

"You losing weight?"

My office mate was asking and I'm like "Huh?" Not likely. Kind of them to say, but more water and no exercise is unlikely to result in weight loss.

I'd recently resumed a more technical role at work, so in addition to more typing - I get a lot more time in front of a computer screen. About few weeks after I start up, my eye goes blood red and it hurts to focus up close.

This, at least is not much fuel for anxiety - I have this recurring thing where one eye or the other will turn red and ache for about a week. No big deal, no lasting effects - no identifiable cause - but the remedy is to get 5 days worth of eye drops and it goes away.

By the time I could get a normal appointment it would go away on its own - so I do urgent care. I give them the same description, they do the same checks, and I get my eye drops.

Simple.

But as long as I was there I wanted to ask them about other stuff. I'd been getting these pains in my hands - numbness mostly - when I was going to sleep. I'd been typing a bit more than usual, so I'd briefly wondered if I was getting carpal tunnel. My dad had it - but then he did an awful lot more with his hands than I ever did.

And there was other stuff. Odd pains here and there. I started rattling off the list until I sounded like a hypochondriac. Watching your doctor shift from active listener to "I'm waiting until they stop talking" mode does not inspire confidence in your message.

I've done the freak out before. Let a number of random inputs convince me I was in dire shape - only to find out I was fine. Wired up to telemetry and it was nothing.

A collection of aches, pains, and odd sensations that seem dire in your head comes out as a rambling collection of random things. Just what happens when you save it all up.

I sounded like a dork.The result was predictable.

They asked me to do some tests - and sent me on my way.

So - I'm at work on Tuesday, tests done - clacking away at the keyboard and I get a call from the school nurse.

The boy has fallen on the playground and hurt his leg. They need me to pick him up. They hadn't been able to reach E, so they're getting me. Just as well, she has no wheels anyway. I'm thirty minutes out and tell them so. "He's okay?" They tell me he'll be in the nurse's room until I get there.

I leave a few messages with E and head in. I'm down to vapors on PTO, but this is just how it goes. Lose two weeks to an appendicitis, and this is what the end of the year looks like.

I pick up the boy and he's shivering, but totally calm. There's no swelling on his leg, no bruising, and I get him to put his sock back on, then his shoe. He can move his toes, he just doesn't want to walk on it.

Sprain.

We get him in a wheelchair and into the van. We're off to urgent care to get him looked at. Might as well be safe.

I'm about twenty minutes out from urgent care when my phone rings - luckily I have the buds in, so I click in.

It's urgent care. I'm like, How did they know we're coming?

We're going to the west clinic - this is the east clinic, the one I went to this morning.

Sir, I have the results from your blood tests this morning.

Okay, I've kinda got something I need to do here...

Sir, your blood sugar is very high.-

Ma'am, I'm taking my son in to - 

Normal range is around 70 to 100-

-get his leg looked at.

Yours is at 320.

 ...I am, uh..

The dread I'd been feeling for weeks is finally redeemed - but it doesn't help.

You need to be on mediation as soon as possible.

Those nights I woke up with numb arms and tingling in my hands...

Your doctor just updated my screen. He wants you in in the next two days. I'll give you his scheduling number... sir?

I'd lie awake and wince at the pains sparking off in my legs, my chest. Vacillating between thinking I was about to have some catastrophic event and believing myself an idiot for thinking so. I'd go downstairs, unlock the front door, and sit on the couch with the phone in my hand. I'd watch television until I calmed down. Go back to bed when it passed.

Sir...?

The boy's in the back asking about what they're going to do to his leg - he's oblivious that his dad is on the phone - I cover the mic and tell him they're going to put it in a splint (I'm wrong, of course - he's broken both bones in his leg, but I won't find that out for another half hour).

Sir...?

I know what she's going to say, but I ask her anyway.

What does this mean?

Sir your A1C is 12.7% that's an average over the last 60 days or so...That means...

I'm a diabetic.

Sir, you need to see your doctor in the next day or so...

I'm at a stop sign about 3 miles from getting my son to treatment. I'm head down at the wheel until someone honks at me.

Bin the later - it's time for the now.

My boy needs his dad - and not one who is a self-pitying mass of useless.

I wave the other car by and make the appointment.

Blinker on. We make the turn.

Too Soon?

Overheard at the sandwich shop:

Q: What do you call a woman who chases after a much younger man?

A: A cougar.

Q: What do you call a man who chases after a much younger man?

A: A Nittany Lion

Quote of the Night

 Just because it made me laugh...

I'm ashamed of what I did for a Klondike bar...

-Texts from Last Night

Eighteen Digit Number

There's an obvious irony in this - but all I can see right now is suckage.

Like the rest of the country - I seized upon the falling mortgage rates to refinance. I missed a historically low interest rate by a day - thank you very much - but I got a rate that should make a difference in our finances.

The refi guy at the bank was email only - so buried under applications that they only processed them via the web, and promised to call you within two weeks. I was happy to snag the low rate, so I did what they said.

So it's the day of the closing and I'm looking at the paperwork and I see a name that gives me the creeps.

MERS.

Yes, that MERS. The one who holds more than 60 million of the country's mortgages, yet ignores state laws on the registration and foreclosing of mortgages. The company that breaks chain of title and damages the property rights of adjacent property holders.

Those guys.

I asked the title insurance employee (who was the only one there) if MERS had any role on our loan. They were like "No, no - they're just there to save you money on filing the paperwork."

And they do this in what capacity, relative to my loan?

The title insurance employee gave an answer that established that they had no idea what role MERS played on our loan - but that they were "certain" that everything was fine.

Now, you're the consumer with a bad feeling about this - but you know that the MERS voodoo causes problems when other problems emerge. If I pay my loan, MERS, role does not matter. But then you wonder what happens when my loan gets sold and re-sold? Will I know where to send my payments? Will the servicer stay the same?

And because the alternative is to scrap your re-fi - the one with the sweet rate - you sign. Because, scrapping the deal means you lose a good chunk of your closing costs - and you honestly don't know if your chosen lender has any options that don't include MERS.

So... y'know. F$&#!

But in the back of your head, you're thinking. MERS is seriously in the news lately. Losing cases left and right. Telling its members to list MERS in an alternate role.

Maybe it won't be like that - and again - I pay my bill, things will be fine, right? 

Enter the Loan Servicer - a company called PHH. PHH?

Never heard of them.

Googling, I find:

David beats Goliath: Homeowner wins $21MILLION payout from mortgage firm in dispute over credit rating 

In which an Army NCO paid PHH by direct deposit every month - until PHH decided to ignore the fact they had his money and notified the credit agencies that he was a deadbeat.

This is the kind of thing that gets me all worked up. Not that my loan will go this route, but my state has two lawsuits this year against PHH where PHH botched the paperwork and asked the courts to let them take people's homes anyway.

I call PHH to make sure they have my first payment and they've never heard of me. Even though their name is on the paperwork, even though I give them my loan number and SSN - they have no idea who I am. Mind you, this is over a month after our loan closed.

Anybody ever had an argument with a bank where you were trying to convince them that you owed them money? Pretty freaking surreal.

PHH insist I call my previous lender, because they have no record of me.

My prior lender agrees that the paperwork is backed up, but that I should send my first payment and PHH will "hold onto it" until the loan gets set up in their system. Because, hey, what could go wrong, right?

Then I go poking around and find a search engine for MERS properties. And yes, my property is listed in it.

There's a note date, a listing of my prior lender and an long string of digits that make up my MIN: My  MERS Identification Number.

I have been assimilated.

My local customer-friendly bank has sold me to the corporate wolves.

Great.

Just great.

Father of the Year

(via The Two-Way)

"Zach Tomaselli, 23, of Lewiston, Maine, said Sunday that he told police that [Syracuse University assistant basketball coach Bernie] Fine molested him in 2002 in a Pittsburgh hotel room. The third accuser to come forward, Tomaselli said Fine touched him "multiple" times in that one incident." Tomaselli's father, however, told the AP he is certain his son never had any contact with Fine.

As in, "Gee, dad. Why don't you shut the hell up and let your grown son speak his mind, huh?"

Do You Feel Lucky?

So, it's open enrollment and (as tradition dictates) I'm in the final hours of the window reading the help files and wracking my brain to remember what we do and don't have as a household.

My employer outsources the process to a webservice which is (workflow wise) pretty impressive.

They give you a progress meter ( 1, 2, 3 steps and you're done!) and they offer you every single option imaginable. You're required to waive or accept each and every plan, twice - so there's no single misclick can sentence you to unwanted benefits.

Getting you through the process in a few minutes speaks to a process that is well formed. Having online validation makes sure you don't submit bad choices - so I'm sure it's win-win for the employee and their employer.

There are even tutorials on what the various plans do for you -  which is pretty freaking important, seeing these are year long commitments to plans that can be the difference between maintaining your current lifestyle and total catastrophe.

While some of the tutorials nicely illustrate the broad concepts of things like flex spending accounts - there are also moments like this one detailing the reasons a person might get disability insurance:

I mean - the chances are "very good" that I will become disabled? Really? This is for a plan whose benefits start on the 15th day of disability, supplemented by another plan whose benefits start on the 151st day of disability.

And this is for a business whose employees work in information technology.

Thinking back to my closest brush with disability - surgery and in hospital for five days. Still nowhere near qualifying for the short term disability coverage.

But it's not like I'm getting any younger.

Do you listen to the merchant trying to sell you stuff...?

Smartmoney says there is a good chance, so now you're comparing your own experience against the odds.

How does a person make an informed choice about getting this kind of coverage? 

Arrgh.