In No Particular Order

Morning walks with the dog. A warm bed in a cold room. Crispy leaves on the sidewalks. Seeing my breath. A new and better way to tie my shoes. Chairs that recline. Century-old red brick. Sunlight through my office windows. Deep breaths that end in a smile. Sandals. Kathryn and the dog and me on the couch. Hot coffee. Insulin. Text messages with my sister. Dinner parties. Discovering new music. People who hold open doors. Documentaries. Vivid dreams. Thunderstorms and front porches. High definition. Kids who ask questions. Backyard vegetable gardens. Writers. Walking downtown for lunch. My insulin pump. Steam from the dishwasher. Zoning out on the treadmill to hip-hop. Crock-Pots. The dog’s toenail rhythm down to the side door. Craft-brewed beer. Health insurance. Clear windshields. Editors. Smoke from a match. Playlists. Planning vacations. Generous friends. Warm earth. Antidepressents. Deep corner booths in restaurants. Long straight stretches of empty interstate. Stretching. Compassion. Plumes of snow arcing from the snow thrower. My endocrinologist. Fantasy football. My in-laws (really!). Naps. Taxes. Cyclists who warn me they’re passing. Sidewalk cafes. Liberals. The din of a locker room. A warm car in winter. Early morning weekly commute phone calls with my mom. Caring veterinarians. Curiosity. Duvets. Friday nights at home. Hardcover, paperback, e-, and audio books. The smell of mown grass. Mail order. Bruce Springsteen. My childhood. Bleu cheese, olives, gin, and vermouth. Stairs. Samples at Whole Foods. Nonsmoking bars. Feeling thin. Front yards given over to eccentricities. Travel. Paper sacks, sturdy handles, thoughtful bagging. Iced coffee. Creaky wooden floors. Outdoor weddings. Fresh laundry. Cold water. King-sized pillows. Not having to dance. Not having to go out to see a movie. Instant messaging. E-mail. Houses settling. Artificial sweeteners. Nonbelievers. Perennials’ new green in spring. Quiet, private changing rooms. A good HbA1c. Saturday breakfasts at Beezy’s with my wife. Bloggers. Dust motes. Surgeons. Riverbanks and looping trails. Typography. Wondering where the time went. The dog’s joy at each new day. Video game reviews. Pharmaceuticals. Pharmacists. Fails on the Web. Small farms. Wearing jeans and a t-shirt to work. Cheese. Hardware stores. Wearing shorts to work. Working. Working out to exhaustion. Sublevels in parking garages. A good pen. Cured meats. Neighbors. Leaving the office early. Watching an entire season of a TV show in one weekend. Evergreens in a windstorm. Hospitals. Flocks of birds. A clean house. Fireplaces. Fire pits, the logs shifting as they burn. Tall grasses. Thyroid hormones. Museums. Empty cafeterias on Saturday afternoons. Lack of a landline. Sharp lancets. Carbonation. Commenters on blogs. Magazines. Every moment of my life, regardless.

Because, in no particular order, this list goes on and on…

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Eric Lagergren: Eric Lagergren was born in 1974 but didn’t give much thought to diabetes until March 2007, when he was diagnosed with Type 1. He now gives quite a bit of thought to the condition, and to help him better understand his life as a person with diabetes, he writes about it. Eric is the senior editor for the Testing Division at the University of Michigan’s English Language Institute in Ann Arbor. (Eric Lagergren is not a medical professional.)

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