Once upon a time, there was a Little Blind Girl. She loved her family, her job, fine wine, and summer. Every winter, she longed for the end of the ice; long days, warm weather, green leaves on the wide awake trees. No more hibernation. Everything vibrant, flourishing. She counted the months, weeks, days, and finally…. allergy season came.
Oh, yeah. Forgot about that.
I sit here before you a miserable hostage to hay-fever. I don’t know what I did in a past life to deserve this. Did Past Little Blind Girl harvest a rainforest? Plant sun-loving flowers in the shade? Systematically step on every blade of grass that dared to grow between the cracks in the pavement? I don’t know. But since I came home from work, I’ve blown my nose nineteen times, including once since I started typing this entry. And this is after I started allergy medication. Why? Why? Hang on, running low on tissues….
Even my poor cat is suffering. The Chloe Cat sneezed ten times in a row the other day. Don’t get me wrong, that was one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen, and if I’d had my camera phone on me, it would have gone viral in about 7 seconds, but the poor thing is genuinely miserable. Oh Gods of Hayfever, why punishest mine cat for thy grudge against me? Though I did laugh myself silly when she couldn’t walk straight for a couple of minutes. Drunk kitty! Hilariousness.
The problem with seasonal allergies is that, when I sneeze, it isn’t like a little piddly cold-type sneeze. It starts from somewhere a little below my stomach, travels up through my lungs and causes a whole body seizure, then forces itself out of my nose so hard that my feet leave the ground. No joke, no exaggeration. I achieve flight. I think, if I sneezed often enough, I could probably levitate. And there’s no sense of discretion. I nearly sneezed all over a colleague today. I turned away just in time, thank goodness, or I probably would have caused some damage, and I don’t think my insurance covers that.
I’ve been a faithful acolyte to the Church of Summer ever since I was a kid and summer meant I didn’t have to wear a uniform and saddle shoes for three months. My God, why hast thou forsaken me? And my kitty? Hang on…gah. Yes. The tissue count is up to twenty.
Whatever I did to deserve this, I apologize unreservedly. Oh God of Summer, please expiate my sin and allow me to breathe through my nose once more. Also, if you could see fit to allowing the Chloe Cat to drink from her water fountain without violently sneezing in the process, my bamboo floors would thank you. I humbly sacrifice my pride by posting my travails on the Interweb. Please have mercy on my nose. Amen. Gah! Tissue count: twenty-one…