I haven’t written anything this week because, frankly, I’ve been too full of snot to think straight. For the first time in my misbegotten life, I’ve fallen prey to seasonal allergies. I don’t have to talk to them to know that my immediate family members, while sorry for me in a kind way, are chortling with satisfied glee right now. Until this year, I’ve been the only one in the family who hasn’t been made wretched by some type of allergy or other. Mom’s got seasonal woes, Dad’s allergic to everything that moves and some stuff that doesn’t, and Tim falls somewhere in between. I can’t pinpoint my allergen: it’s either wood smoke (which would suck, since Debbie and I heat the farmhouse with the woodstove until the really cold weather hits) or something ragweed-ish (which would suck worse, since I’d have no control over that). Anyway, for as much of the past week as I could get away with, I’ve been curled up in a blanket on my couch, reading “Two Towers” and feeling sorry for myself. My mental processes haven’t been up to snuff (like in that old Bloom County
cartoon: “Speaking of snuff, can you breathe through that thing?” “Snnort.” “SNNNOOOPHT!” “No.”)
But maybe this embarrassment of riches, snot-wise, is a blessing in disguise. I’m too wiped out to be truly terrified by the news; I’m just moderately terrified. Did y’all watch Bush’s news conference last night? How the heck are we supposed to return to business as usual when the government is saying we could be hit again at anytime, anywhere? It didn’t help that I watched it right after reading this week’s “Newsweek”, the cover of which featured a tiny Arabic child toting a toy machine gun and looking menacingly into the camera. That’s just swell. Could they have found a more awful picture?
Oh well, work calls. Wish me luck in my attempt to ignore the news. For now, I’ll leave you with a song to get stuck in your head for the rest of the day: Allergies, by Paul Simon:
Something’s living on my skin
Open up it’s me again