Drowning in Kool-Aid

“The phrase can…used…to indicate that one has embraced a particular philosophy or perspective.
Alice: Hey, did you hear that Joe is working on the Nader campaign?
Bob: Yeah, he really drank the Kool-Aid on that one.”
Reference: Urban Dictionary

This post will be outside my comfort zone as I usually don’t talk about work. Listeners of “The CC and JT Amateur Hour” know we’re public servants in Carson City, so extrapolating our bosses is a short leap. I learned a difficult life lesson recently, and maybe someone will read this post and learn that lesson without my struggle. At the very least I’m documenting my experience for the next time, whenever that is.

I’ve been drinking the above flavor of Kool-Aid all my life, especially when I was in the Air Force. Total immersion was not only expected, but we took an oath to drink the contents of whatever mugs and steins that were placed in front of us. After my service, I entered private and public employment where the devotion to the mission varied by office. Last February, I was pulled into an office where, yep, the level of the Kool-Aid was up by my nose. I accepted a promotion in the same office a few months later and took the dive into the deep end of the pool.

I should have known better because my diabetes was already acting up before failing upwards. But it was my dream job, gosh darn it (I shout into the silent abyss!). Years paying my dues were finally rewarded, and I was working with fantastic people and doing important work. Ah, but for my poor pancreas. I’d been living with self-inflicted diabetes type two for years, so I should have been smarter. Of course, if I’d been that smart years ago, I wouldn’t be a T2 in the first place.

You can see when I made the decision to take a transfer and demotion. My doctor wants my daily blood sugar readings (BSRs) between those two green bars (140-160). My move to healthier circumstances was not met with widespread approval and understanding by the office Kool-Aid makers, but I had no choice. I want to keep my feet a little while longer.

Life Lesson: be smarter than me. Do not tax your pancreas, and if you do, make better decisions about your lifestyle than I did. You’ll save yourselves hours of physical and mental misery if you do.

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