Oh yeah. I remember. This is the part of the year when I want to slice my own nose off to stop it sneezing.
Don’t get me wrong. I like grass. I really do. Without it we’d just have dusty soil and mud, and the park would be a rolling landscape of sand and earth interspersed with lonely trees. Grass is wonderful. You can sink your toes in it in the summer, you can roll about it and watch it ripple in the breeze, you can hide in it, you can play football on it, you can enjoy it for what it is.
But every year at the end of May and the beginning of June, for some biological, physiological, herbological reason the grass seed seems to wage war on my life until I’m an erupting mess of fury and mucus.
My nose is on fire today. My eyes are streaming. I can’t see my laptop screen and I feel as though I’ve spent the day crying. I get it universe! I’m allergic to grass seed. You don’t have to prove a point!
The worst of it is that I sort of forgot it was coming. I mean I should have known; I just wasn’t paying attention to how late in May it was. And yes, sometimes this stage hasn’t happened until June, but often, with some warmer weather the ‘darling buds of May’ get shaken about and it’s hay fever city central. And here it is again with depressing predictability.
I’ve taken a Clarityn. It’s about the best I can do for now, but I’m still snivelly and sneezy.
Is there anything in the Bible about this? You know, ‘even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of herbaceous borders…’ or Jesus healing the allergic man by the side of the road, saying, ‘get up and sneeze no more’… anything? No?
I suppose I should be thankful it is only a few weeks of the year. It’s like having an itchy jumper you can’t take off, or little imps shoving invisible pokers into your nostrils.
I will fear no evil. Right. Even when it hides in the long grass and irritates me enough to be grumpy. Here we go then. Hay fever season. Joy.
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