As someone with tendencies toward hypoglycemia, I’m prone to hanger. My fiance can attest that my downward spiral is both rapid and unpredictable, and that even I am not always prepared. I can go from “I’m fine, I can eat in another couple of hours” to “Fuck those fuckity fuckers straight to fucking hellfire” in five seconds.
The struggle, I’m very sorry to say, is real.
So, it probably shouldn’t be surprising, since my mood is directly tied to the amount of sugar in my bloodstream, that I’m cranky. I had a lot of trouble with the assault bike, and only some of it could be attributed to having asthma. The rest was, well, just not my day. Dammit. And while I know that my body is adjusting to my new macro percentages, all I can currently say is aaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh! Fuck those fuckity fuckers! Straight to hellfire!
But not you, dear reader, not you. (psssssstttttt: Got any sugar? No? Fuck right hell off).