Report of the early morning Diacrap diver
Blog number 100 of 200 planned
This morning I woke up in a frenzy, at 2:30 AM I strapped on my snorkel device and went diacrap diving. This is my report from the bottom of the bottomless pit that was the most dangerous thing I have done in recent memory. I hope that giving this report will help others avoid the same pitfalls I found.
To begin with you should understand that we have lived here 12 and one half years, and thisis the first serios venture into the world of diacrap. True the heap has increased every year but this morning it reached critical mass. Going in was the only acceptable solution. Believe me, if I could have closed that door and gone on, I would have done so unfortunately, it was just not possible. My first bit of advice is to get air tanks if you are going in this deep. Diacrap is tough stuff and strapping on air tanks was something I missed. In fact half way down into the void I almost turned back. I resurfaced, took a new gulp of air and dove to the depths of the diacrap void. I wish I could say it was pleasant in there, but dangers lurked at every turn.
So let’s start at the beginning. I spoke with my wife over the weekend about reclaiming space in our rather small cupboard in our kitchen. That is where I stored my diacrap. I had to admit that the diacrap owned me and that cupboard, I no longer owned it. In fact last week my wife opened the cupboard and it nearly swallowed her whole. In a scene reminiscent of the Little Shop of horrors, the diacrap yelled in a deep almost indiscernible voice “buy me more” it was scary. I mean just last week I had a delivery of sensors. It was the last straw the stack of diacrap now stood 4’6” and when it whispered “buy me more” I had to go in.
I got up at 2:30 in order to avoid some obvious pit falls. True I am home all day by myself and going in during daylight hours seemed like a good idea since I could not see as much of the dust storm engulfing me. Even in the dim light of pre-dawn the dust was obvious and the dangers were even more real as the shadows cast difficult images on the walls. I could tell at the beginning I was taking my life in my hands. Even screams from inside the pit would be muffled.
I started with the stack of sensors. When I moved them a dust storm erupted it engulfed me and the toxic fumes were over powering. I coughed and hacked and grabbed the bottom of the stack. I headed immediately for the new shelf even as I was blinded in the cloud of disgusting diadebris. True I had the sensors, but I also collected the first of six meters. One of which had been opened, the other five were in original boxes. Now do not be fooled only two of the meters worked with my current test strips. The other four were foreign invaders sent to me in the vile hope that I would switch to another brand. I was torn. Do I fulfill my mission and toss the invaders? Or do I settle back and take the safe route? I want rouge and tossed the invaders. At first I felt a terrible sense of loss but I notice breathing became easier, yes I had conquered the first of many fears.
In back of the meter sensor stack I found the first of 350 syringes. I use a pump so these are remnants of the pre pump days of yore. It is of course best to keep a few syringes in case my pump fails. This has happened to me over the years so the syringes stayed, still 350 seems excessive. Having just tossed the unused meters I went safe and kept the syringes.
Next I unearthed a light bulb and a box of microwave popcorn; un-popped of course, the light was relocated to safe ground and the popcorn went to the trash. It had an expiration date of 2009 so that was safe. Finally I found the working supply of test strips. In this box, which I visit occasionally, I find 1,000 lancets. I realize I have not purchased a lancet in two years, and yet I still have 1,000. Yes things are out of control. Oh and I change my lancets, so the overflow is a lot. I am troubled but since I no longer buy lancets, I keep the lot and hope I have space to keep the unused supply.
Then the major find, I located the long lost completely forgotten Growler jug form a local brewer. It was covered in dust and that dust had started to be fluffy. Fluffy like in dust bunnies not, mold. The growler jug had been in there for at least three years and belongs to my sons who keeps it our house for those times he visits. The growler jug went to our work closet. It will be rediscovered later.
With the floor now empty I went up. On the top shelf were the working supplies. Reservoirs, pump sets, tack and alcohol swabs occupy these shelves. My first find was 100 IV 3000 bandages. I no longer use these since stemwinder turned me on to OpSite Flexifix Transparent Film 2 Inch Roll. The IV 3000 hit the trash. Then I went deep. I collected an unused syringe depository (trash), and then the massive number of pump boxes. I found transmitter boxes with unopened material. Pump boxes with unopened material from three pumps ago. Then the second pump box and the third, trash, trash, keep. Old medicine I opted for proper destruction. Software (trash), cables (trash), care links, plug testers, and belt holders. Then the groaning “buy me more”.
The former stack was yelling at me. I pressed on as I went I started cutting, cleaning and stacking. I set up the new repository of diacrap and immediately on shutting the door, the new stack yelled in a more quit voice “buy me more”. And the cycle starts over. One day this timid new stack will yell “buy me more”. Until then the animal has been slewed. Long live the new monster.
Upon taking off my snorkel I scraped off the dust bunnies from my mustache and reminisced. I remembered the unbridled joy of meds that might work and the disappointment when it did not. I recall the joy of new meters, new bandages and new anything. Of course I also looked forward to morning light when the dust will be dealt with. After all it was still 3:30 AM. And the refrain “buy me more” is way less troublesome than waking a wife at 3:30 AM with a noisy sweeper. Even a man who dives in the Diapit knows some boundaries.