"In my best moments I'm filled with a curious peace, an almost passable impersonation of how it used to be. Then my T cells drop suddenly or I sprout a virulent rash on my back or shit my best corduroys while waiting in line at the DMV, and I'm once again reminded how fucking tenuous it all is. My life, whatever its duration, is still a lurching, lopsided contraption held together by chewing gum and baling wire.
And here's the kicker: the longer you survive the virus, the closer you get to dying the regular way.
My current recipe for continued existence, a fine tuned mélange of Viramune and Combavir, now competes for shelf space in my cabinet with Lipitor, Wellbutrin, and Glucosamine Chondroitin, remedies commonly associated with age and decrepitude. (Well maybe not Wellbutrin, since even the young get depressed, but that was no big deal in my own youth.)
There are plenty of ironies in this, lessons to be learned about fate and the fickleness of death and getting on with life while the getting is good, but you won't read them here.
I've had enough lessons from this disease."
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