Somebody please tell me what the hell I did to Spring to make it want to kill me. With every breath I take I inhale poisons that my body used to be able to process with ease, but now my eyesight blurs with tears, my throat burns until it’s raw, and my head’s so full of snot that I can’t string a sentence together without punctuating it with a sneeze so wet and so loud people reach for the umbrellas, expecting rain clouds to open up. Furthermore, I can’t get enough energy together to pack my bags and move to Anartica, where I’m sure I’ll finally find relief.
It used to not be like this. Up until a few short years ago I might have experienced a day or two of symptoms that were strong enough to make me uncomfortable, but now this unknown cloud of toxic pollen is like watered down sarin gas. I get crushing, dibiliating, unrelenting symptoms that wear me out as much as they destroy any sense of normal body functioning.
But they’ll go away–in the heat of the summer. Too late to enjoy the lovely scent of lilacs growing in the yard, or the popping sound of pinecones opening on the tree in my backyard. Spring used to be my favorite season, and in my heart it’ll always stay my favorite, but I’m sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.
I think I’m going to buy a boat and sail out to the center of the Pacific each Spring. Maybe that’ll keep me sane.