The prodigal sun is peeking through the clouds at last… the sweet breath of Spring warms the baby buds forming on every tree… daffodils burst forth from their bulbs in sunny joy.

Hard to believe that all this gloriousness is trying to kill me.

As you may recall from an earlier post, I am allergic to the natural world, and my tree pollen allergy is by far the worst one I have. Which explains perfectly why I have chosen to live in the Pacific Northwest, otherwise known as the Biggest Fucking Forest In The Country.

Most allergy meds don’t really do much for my symptoms because they’re atypical. No run-of-the-mill sniffles and sneezes for me. Oh no, I might as well have the flu: body aches and headaches that don’t go away, bone-crushing fatigue, lightheadedness, sore lymph nodes. Shit that makes you regret having given up heroin.

But the physical stuff is the easy part. I also get mildly depressed (“I forgot to do laundry! I am nothing.”) and cry more easily, even at happy things (like the Dove commercials with the beautiful older women on them that I am certain will put my own troll-face to shame).

When your body is rejecting the air you are breathing, everything seems harder and overwhelming; if Kevin didn’t put the toothpaste on my toothbrush, I think I’d just forget the whole thing.

Why am I telling you all of this?

I’m just assuring you that if the blog posts don’t show up, it’s just because I’ve taken to my bed like a Victorian lady and may not emerge until Christmas when the threat to my health is surely past.

Except for those damn Christmas trees.

[tags]allergies, spring, Bubble Girl[/tags]