Just when I thought there were no other ways to be pathogenically screwed, I have been corkscrewed.
Corkscrewed! Me and My Lyme
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CFS
Listening to Einstein in the Dark
In the evening as we lie in bed, Bill sweeps his palms over the contours of my head and down my spine, along my arms and legs, grazing my skin as if moving over a Ouija board. This has a soothing effect on the muscle pain that clenches my body.
Nerve Gas in the Living Room
Imagine if a company offered to sell you nerve gas to spray in your living room, or if leftover Agent Orange, watered down, was slathered on the grounds where your children go to school.
The Cells of My Identity
In a setup that was far too Oedipal, I was sleeping in a small room with my mother while visiting my sister in D.C., when I finally blurted out the news that I had a girlfriend, that I was bisexual and maybe gay.
The Invisible Panelist
Long before I became disabled at age 23, I had encounters with the unseen. Being queer gave me an innate sense of when to come out, how to hide, and how to recognize evangelistic rage.
The Mystery and Tragedy of Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome
These are plague years. Governments, insurance companies, even scientists—we, the people, too—are scared. Who’ll fall ill next, who’ll have to pay?
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