The 25 Dollar Tights, the HOV Lane, and a Side Order of 'Roids

I had these tights . . . not just any tights, but spectacular tights.  They were sweater tights, without the bulk.  They were grey plaid, with blue and yellow.  They were cool, hip, happening tights.  They were 25 bucks from Mod Cloth. They ripped, on the second wearing.  How did they rip? I snagged them on the foil wrapper from a yoghurt container.  In my house. 

Shit. 

Of course the larger question is why in the hell did I spend 25 bucks on a pair of tights? Okay, they are cool . . .But, my poor, cheap self really was lost in a Lupus haze of hell literally sitting on the floor, in the corner, with a hand on each wall praying for the room to stop spinning.  When the room did stop spinning, after a round or two of upchucking, I crawled into bed.  As the dizzy subsided I laid there fearing to get up, so I watched movies online and window shopped.  Yea . . . I blame the dizzy.  I also blame the sheer and utter exhaustion.  The pains in every orifice and joint and the swelling . . . they affected my judgment and I cannot be held responsible.  Of course, the stench of the plaquenil farts didn’t really help matters.  I’m not wholly unconvinced that I won’t end up with a “Febreeze tumor” in twenty years from the amount I spray these days. 

Though, lying in bed and lusting over a Midwinter Mist Dress, Movie Date Heels, Now You’re Walking Heels, and a dark grey Craft Party Dress I found myself ordering the 25 dollar pair of tights, two dresses not listed here (which I am told are drop dead beautiful), and other tid bits of clothing while still leaving the above mentioned lustables in my wish list and “to buy later” bins.  Of course, throughout all of this I was left to my own thoughts for entirely too long. So much so, that I have devised a new battle plan.  Well, really we should call this my gorilla attack on the Grand Central, the LIE, and asshat drivers in general. 

As I laid there, still exhausted from life, and the backup on the LIE the day before I came to ponder the very real point that living with Lupus is very much like having a second person inside your body.  This second person takes over at will, is a fucking nuisance, and is very rude and inconsiderate.  The bitch wakes you up at all hours screaming in pain, for no real reason, and she  beats up your face to leave markers of her passing.  Unfortunately, she is not like the skinny bitch who lives in all of us.  Yes, we all have one but . . . if you are like me you shut that bitch up with cookies.  None-the-less, this mysterious second person of Lupus living in my skin poses serious questions and cookies do not shut her up. 

I keep her at bay, or try to, by sucking down a handful of gremlins in the morning and evening.  Somedays those damned things do make me Wonder Woman with drugs, but usually they just leave me with side effects . . . If you have ever taken plaquenil, prednisone, or any Lupus med you know.  If not . . . look through the files here, or go look it up.  Nasty 101 my friends.  These days I'm on the 'roids for a few weeks, and you should know that I was in some sorry shape if I took the MD up on his offer for those.  I literally couldn't hide it anymore.  Anywho . . .

My new battle plan is that since Lupus is like having a second bitch inside of me, one that no one likes or wants around, then I’m using this two person status to ride the HOV lane.  No one wants a ‘roid ragin' bitch on the road, so let her use the HOV lane for quicker transport.  What? I find this highly logical.  Might save half an hour on my rush hour commute . . .

Of course, this brazen attack on the HOV lane would be best done in my 25 dollar tights that now have a fucking hole in them.  In the late 1980s a national debate occurred about pregnant women using the HOV lane . . .well, Lupus is not a baby (not even close) but perhaps if I gave the bitch more accords she’d settle down more so that I wouldn’t be delusional on meds and dizzy and buy 25 dollar tights that I ruin in my own house.