Those of you who read my journals pretty much know me. Most of my life is in the journals. At least most of my adult life. There are some things that aren't there. Either they're irrelevant or just something I don't want you to know about me. Some things are embarrassing. And there are some journals that are just rambling. I don't talk much about my diseases and it may seem strange. But, luckily, there's very little to report on type 2. It's under control for the most part. All these preceeding words are to warn you that I'll be doing a little rambling in this one. I was reading the newspaper yesterday. Sitting in my recliner. A cold Coke Zero to my right and a cigarette in my left hand. The light for my reading is coming from a floor lamp. It's old. How old I don't know. Can't remember where I got or when I got it. All I know is that it's my favorite light. It's a 3-way and has a big globe bulb and 3 smaller lights around it's base. Those hold one small blue bulb and 2 small red bulbs. At night, when I'm in the computer room, I turn on the two red bulbs so I can see if I need to go to the kitchen. It needs some refurbishing. The sockets for the smaller bulbs are bare, but for the life of me I can't figure out how to cover them. This wonderful floor lamp is the signature of my home furnishings. It doesn't go with anything in the living room. The recliner and couch, given to me by Vickie, are modern. The two end tables, coffee table, and armchair came from my mom's home.The kitchen table is one I bought more than 20 years ago. You've seen my computer room. The only matching furniture I have is the bedroom suite. It really doesn't fit me. It's all white and white's not one of my favorite colors. It was my moms too. But when I look at all this, I realize this is my life. The bedroom, my mom. The recliner and sofa, a loving sister. The exercise equipment, promises not fulfilled. The computer, my future. The old floorlamp, my oldest and dearest friend.