Confessions of an allergy sufferer
I scoffed at the notion of allergies before moving here.
SCOFFED, I tell you!
It just seemed so vague to me. “Oh, my allergies are really
acting up.” What does that even mean? I’m sorry these beautiful flowers are
somehow making you feel less than 100 percent, but maybe there are bigger
problems in this world than your fragile immune system.
WELL GUESS WHAT? I take it all back. Two things about the
Valley I will never, ever, ever understand are a) its bizarre predisposition
for allowing rocks to hit your windshield on the highway and b) the havoc it
wreaks on the bodies of people who have experienced zero problems in their
decades of existence in other locales.
I seriously don’t even know where it comes from. People talk
about the pollen count, and I’m like, pollen from what? Everything is a cactus or a dumb bush. I have to drive three
blocks to see real grass in my neighborhood, yet I experience a violent,
10-minute sneeze attack every morning that thoroughly annoys my wife because
she somehow thinks I should sneeze more quietly. And even if there is something
in the atmosphere, why hasn’t the Arizona
sun burned it off? For six months a year, you can throw a bucket of milk in the
air and the sun will evaporate it before it can hit the ground, but it can’t
destroy a little pollen? DO YOUR JOB, SUN.
I apologize for my angst, but I haven’t been able to see out
of my eyeballs for the past three weeks. They are constantly watering and all I
want to do is stay home all day in the dark and rub my eyeballs until the itch
is satiated, which is impossible because the itch is NEVER SATIATED. I have a
better chance of rubbing my eyeballs straight out the back of my head than
reaching a point where I can say, “That feels better, I can stop now.”
The good news is that the action of rubbing the eyeballs
feels great—better than sex—but the results … not so much. Unless you think appearing
as if you just watched “Beaches” while holding your dying pet is attractive.
The other day I sat at my desk at work and rubbed my eyeballs INTENSELY for a
good few minutes, and then someone walked in and I looked up and they were
like, “Ohmygosh are you okay? Did something happen? Do you need anything or
just some time alone?” I was like, “I AM OKAY,” but then I really did start
crying. WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME?
I tried taking Claritin, but that did squat. I also tried Benadryl,
which also didn’t work. (Fine, it was Wal-Dryl. Why would I pay for Benadryl
when I can get Wal-Dryl? DON’T JUDGE ME.) I’m growing more convinced that my
allergies are growing stronger with each passing spring, and are currently
immune to all forms of medication. At this point, I don’t think my eyes will
make it. I have already purchased a tiny headstone for them with the epitaph,
“Mike’s eyeballs: rubbing them felt so good, but at what cost? RIP.”
And now I find myself, yet again, anxiously awaiting the
sweltering heat of summer as an alternative to the absolutely perfect weather right now that is
rendering me unable to fully enjoy it. Until then, I am practicing the art of
sneezing more quietly because sneezing is a voluntary action that is totally under
my control. WISH ME LUCK.
Note: This column appears in the 4/2 issue of The Glendale Star and the 4/3 issue of the Peoria Times.
Comments
Claritin is a scam. Have you had your doctor write you a scrip for Clarinex? It is le bomb, but I understand different things work for different p-zeeps.