Here's to more than 30.
In about a month I celebrate my eighteen year anniversary. What's that, say you? Clearly, no for marriage . . . that would have put me hitched at sixteen. Since I am still flying single and solo I am certainly not hitched. For sobriety? Um, really? I like whiskey. Jack, to be exact. Never Beam as it always makes me hurl; remembered that the last trip to N'Orleans too late. Jameson on occasion, usually in a rare sexy, lonesome,and solitary kind of mood. Maker's only in a pinch, on account of a weekend in college. Evan Williams never, as I think it tastes like rot-gut ass. Okay, okay enough with the whiskey diatribe. I celebrate eighteen years of having been diagnosed Lupus; though I doubt you really call this plight a celebration. More so, notice I said "having been diagnosed." Yea, Lupus always manifests before diagnosis. In my case, I was thirteen and contracted Lymes Disease, did a stint in the hospital, saw...