A butterfly in the throat

I’m reading Stefan Kanfer’s wonderful Stardust Lost: The Triumph, Tragedy, and Mishugas of the Yiddish Theater in America. From page 104: “In 1910, some wag labeled New York City the nation’s thyroid gland. It was both a put-down and a compliment.” In a non-localized, online world, is this still the case?

Why is my thyroid behaving like the stock market in 2000? Maybe it’s genetic. My grandmother had hypothyroidism so severe that she had to be hospitalized. Her thyroid just stopped working completely. Or… does stress affect thyroid function, spiralling it ever lower? Wondering.

Such a tiny little butterfly of a gland!

Hoping the new dose will bring on new poems, more home couture, and so on. At the moment I haven’t the urge to be or do anything more than a coiled shrimp. Except maybe that I want to cry, and I don’t think shrimp weep much. Or do they? Perhaps it’s not given for us to know.

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