Blowing my nose is like playing out Snotty Krakatoa. I can demolish four ply of toilet paper faster than it takes to rip it from the roll.
Anyway, seeing as it's bad today, and it feels quite late in the summer for it, I thought I'd go back over my whingy posts from years gone by, and figure out whether any statistical patterns are emerging. Is the season getting shorter? Is it starting later than it used to? Might I prove global warming is affecting grass seed? What do you think?
But if I've been consistently inconsistent about it, and if the weather conditions sort of average out; not to mention holidays, moving around the country, even being in Canada for some of this data, then this is telling at least a bit of a story.
It's getting later, and shorter. Plus, thankfully, this first week of July looks like it represents the endpoint of the season, and my floral torment might be near its end for 2019.
Either that, or I'm not going on about it quite so much, which might also be true. There are only so many ways you can describe the face-exploding mucus bursts, or the feeling of it sinking into your sinus passages moments after you open your eyes in the morning.
Then there's the pinched sneezing in the office, followed by the seven 'bless-yous' from people who've not realised that you haven't finished, and that they'll shortly be required to bless you again. And what about returning from the loos having erupted into tissue paper, only to need to sneeze and restart the whole procedure before you sit down and log back in. That's always a treat.
It's probably a good thing that I don't talk about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment