A Beautiful Disaster
Lying in bed on a chilly night, too tired to think or work, with achy joints and pleurisy in my heart and kidneys my mind always ponders. Oh, and my face burns like the Sierra Dessert in a heat filled wind storm with trails of red wings for proof...I hate the butterfly and all that it entails. Most days I take this Lupus laden life with grains of salt, usually avoiding them getting under my skin. I call my pill bottles gremlins, I denote my daily handfuls of meds as Wonder Woman's aides, and I flip the bird at the butterfly staring back at me in the mirror. Really, when I lay on a coat of makeup I flip it and say "take that Bitch." Yet, I remain like a stereotypical New Yorker...living in fear. I doubt the majority of New Yorkers really live in fear, but our stereotype abounds. We fear muggers, hour delays on a stopped and crowded subway train, and raises in rent. Yet, we put up with these inconveniences for the beauty and joy that this city brings. We love the late n...