As some readers of this blog know, I have Type 1 Diabetes. Well, sometimes with Type 1 Diabetes you get low blood sugar, and in my case getting low blood sugar in the middle of the night often leads me to wake up in a massive, cold sweat. I’m a big low blood sugar sweater there’s no doubt about it, in fact, despite my best efforts, I’m just a big sweater in general. I guess last night at 3 AM my personality split and Diabetic Keegan woke up in a cold sweat, dashed out of his/my room, grabbed a jug of orange juice and a towel, and started chugging one while trying to dry himself off as rapidly as possible with the other. Diabetic Keegan's intention was to stop the sweating from happening before it even started which, in hindsight, was foolish. In fact, Diabetic Keegan was so upset when he realized he was a massive, fucking idiot, that he wrote a manifesto on a paper towel. At the time, Diabetic Keegan thought it sounded really smart and that it would be a good blog. Now I, Keegan, realize it doesn’t sound really smart, makes me seem like a psycho, and would be a good blog. I’ve thrown in a couple brackets with my italicized post-event commentary. Enjoy.

This is ridiculous: it wasn’t like I started playing whackamole as soon as I started sweating. [Whackamole is an appropriate metaphor for what I was doing, I imagine it looked very similar, except for instead of a little kid hitting a mole with a hammer, it was a sweaty, half naked 26 year old rapidly dabbing different parts of his body with a towel he stole from the gym]

It wasn’t like I was wiping as soon as I started expousing fluids. [expousing is not a word but I don’t want to lose the intended meaning by trying to translate]

It’s not like I have some maid [or maidman] who quaffs me (word?) [Diabetic Keegan used those parentheses] as soon as I start to release liquids. I am not just going to evolve out of this. It doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t really matter how quickly I leap into action: I’m already going to be ten seconds too slow. And it doesn’t matter that I’m chugging orange juice like a frat bro at Oktoberfest and wiping like a groom who shit his pants- I’m still going to be plugging holes on a sinking ship. [Classic Keegan, making a college metaphor and then quickly changing the subject to pooping your pants: get over it Keegan, it happened once- you’ve got to move on]

While I should have just let this pass like a sane human being, I have instead drunk all my orange juice in five minutes (not cheap!) in a misplaced effort to beat this curse. [Nice to see that Diabetic Keegan is both aware of what a maniac he looks like, and that he needs to save money]

I can Pavlov’s dog myself to death [I think I invented that phrase] but at 3AM I’m still going to be the guy with splotchy sheets, no OJ, who’s telling his mom he sweats the bed. [This is, in effect, me telling my mom I sweat the bed. Hi Mom]

I don’t know at what point this became a thing I thought I could stop. Oh, yes I do – it was last night. [You can tell Diabetic Keegan is turning back into Keegan here, self-awareness is increasing]

Super sad. [Indeed!]