Current music: Groove Salad
One of the last coherent thoughts I had before falling asleep last night was praying that The Boy would get serious about dealing with his diabetes, and wondering if I was even getting through to God.
So at 3:30 this morning, we were wakened by a tapping on the window. He'd returned to pick up a bag he'd packed Saturday — apparently he was planning the move-out before his tantrum. Before I could say anything, he filled a zip-lock bag with ice and put his insulin in it. He claims to be living with "a rich guy" about 30 miles away; he also claimed to have walked the entire distance and was going to walk back. Riiiiiiight -- if this "rich guy" is buying him clothes and letting him stay with him, why didn't he loan the kid a car? He's either staying close by or had someone waiting for him a little ways down (probably the former; he would have taken a guitar if he wasn't going to walk too far).
He also told me he was probably going to marry his girlfriend once he's 18... probably to shock me. I wanted to counter-shock him by telling him to not have kids, but refrained because of his bullheadedness. Given his ego and congenital lying, and her being not so bright, that combination would give us something much like GW Bush.
The important thing is, he's at least thinking about what he needs to survive for now. Maybe he'll stay out of the hospital.
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