I have some Canadian short story book that had a story about a kid with "diabeetis". I remember the other kids taunting her and calling her "Fart! Fart! Diabeetic fart!"
That's what I always think of when I think of diabeetis.
So, I'm sitting outside smoking a ciggerette and watching bees do flower things. It's a normal part of my day. I also start thinking about when I was a little kid, like 4th grade, and how I would do painful things to my arm to freak the other kids out. Then I start wondering if I can withstand most pain than most. Then I think about all the emotional pain I have shrugged off all these years. Then I look at a flower and notice I don't really see the beauty in it, I just avoid seeing the fact that it is dying.
I had a woman come up to me today and announce that she almost died when she had her baby. She said she had 5 pints of blood and 450+ stitches. I was trying to imagine a scenario in which 450+ stitches would make sense. Anyway, what the hell do you say to something like that? "Oh. Oh, wow."