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rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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Reunited and it feels so goooood!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still bummed out about my one deteriorating finger. But to put things in perspective:
- I still have 9 fingers left that are (so far) fine and not showing signs of joint erosion
- I can do practically all of the yoga poses I was doing before my diagnosis, and how many people with recently diagnosed RA can say that? I told my rheumatologist what I was up to, and her jaw hit the floor. This is an unflappable, clinical woman. I bitch-flapped her!
- My depressions never last long. I cry and feel sorry for myself for a few hours, then I’m done. No pharmaceuticals necessary. This keeps the cost of my mental healthcare wayyyy down. And I can save the happy pills for recreation!
- I have an awesome boyfriend who told me the other day that I was his hero. It was just what I needed to hear to buck up and get over my sorry-ass self. I mean, yes, RA is a terrible disease but it’s not cancer (yet.)
- It’s funny that TA considers me his hero, because he is totally mine. This is the gross “we’re still in love after ten million years and just a few days away from buying matching windbreakers with “Captain” and “First Mate” embroidery” part. Sorry about that.

I went to yoga yesterday morning then immediately turned around and hopped on a train to Manhattan. While TA was in school, I shopped and noshed with Mr Bingo. Later the two of us went back to TA’s school to attend a lecture given by a designer/artist who is essentially my little brother. Whom I haven’t seen in 10 years. It was a Reunion with a capital ‘R’.

Ten years is a long time, and my little brother? Not so little. And you know what else? Fucking sexy as all get-out! It was crazy. And his little brother, who is like my second little brother, not so little either. In fact, tall and athletic and majorly hot. I know I must sound like Paris Hilton talking about her little siblings, and really, maybe this is even sounding a little dirty? Whatever. They are both talented and creative and funny and brilliant. It was exciting and sentimental, like waking up from a fantastic dream and realizing “it’s not a dream! It’s happening right now!”

Somehow or other, his family and mine lost touch.

And touch is such an apt word. I can remember cuddling these little brothers of mine, I can remember the smell of their hair and how adorable they were when they would each reach for my hand before we’d cross the street. Last night when the older of the two hugged me, it was as though someone had plugged us into a socket, so tingly and delirious we were, staring at each other in disbelief. I mean, we’re talking Dr Zhivago here, swirls of imaginary orchestral strings, a fog machine, me in dewy perfect Julie Christie makeup. I practically fainted when he squeezed my arm and said “you’re real.”

I’m sure to other people it must have looked strange—TA’s girlfriend locked in a crazy embrace with a visiting lecturer, 8 years her junior. Then locked in another embrace with a stud of a nineteen year old.

We ate and drank at Pravda, stayed out way too late. At one point in evening, I just looked around the table and marvelled that so many of my most favorite people were sitting together, talking and laughing. I tried to memorialize it with some cameraphone shots, but this morning the pictures are just blurry pixelated blobs.

TA and I crashed at Mr Bingo’s sister’s instead of taking the train home. I had to put my contact lenses in shot glasses and cover them with as many squirts of rewetting drops as I could sacrifice. Sadly there was only one survivor. On the train back to NH this morning, I was a cyclops with a screaming headache and a cup of coffee, but a giddy cyclops with the biggest smile on her face.

Life is funny.

1:07 p.m. - 2006-04-15

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