The Littlest Dictator

Who knew my life would be governed by this?

I mean, it’s pink for heaven’s sake! How can something pink be so threatening and all consuming and dictate what I think about almost every single second of my life?

But it is, and it does, and I continue to subject myself to it’s every whim. Up and down by tenths of a degree, yet my hopes rise and fall in epic proportion.

It should be simple – it’s a number. You can’t argue with numbers, but you can manipulate them. Well let me think, this day last month, it was a tenth of a degree lower. That’s a good sign, right? Oh but wait, three cycles ago this day it was five tenths higher. Damn.

There is no more waiting for it just to happen to you, to be pleasantly surprised by this happy accident. Now, it’s calculated to the tenth of the degree. Okay, I had a three tenths dip, lets go honey! I know what this means.

It speaks in a secret (and sometimes crazy) language to me. After doing this for sixteen cycles, I’m more familiar with myself than I ever imagined being. But it doesn’t bring peace the way the yogis seem to think being intimate with yourself should do. Instead it’s frustrating, exhaustion, sometimes pride (look honey, CD14 this month, yay me!), but most often, just a sense that this is all out of your control.

And so you do what it tells you to do. It’s the first thing you see in the morning, it’s the last thing you see at night. Because you know if it’s over this temperature, then calculating a drop for every hour I sleep, but add in two tenths because I’m sleeping under the sheet, but not the blanket (add four tenths for the blanket) and the window is cracked five inches, no more no less, then I can expect it to be this high in the morning.

It’s not high. It dropped. And you know it’s over. Everyone says don’t give up, it’s not over yet, but you know, you just know sometimes. The littlest dictator has spoken.

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