How do they know?

Lately, every time I walk into the office at work, I start sneezing. This isn’t too surprising, given my tendency toward allergic reactions. I have been mostly trying to ignore it, given that every single allergy medicine does two things (1) stop working if you use it too often and (2) fuck you up somehow. So, I ask myself, can I possibly get anything done if I don’t take something? If I’m not sneezing constantly and dripping copious amounts of mucous on everything, like some kind of particularly off-putting movie monster, then I prefer to just struggle through. Last Wednesday, though, was movie monster day so I dipped into my arsenal of pills. Yay! My face stopped swelling! Boo! I ended up with insomnia, completely unable to sleep until 5:30 am. And then, not sleep well. At least I work second shift, right? So I don’t have to be up until late morning.

Except that Thursday morning, at 8:10 am, I was then awoken by the unwelcome sound of a woodchipper being fed the tremendous pile of dead trees and branches they pile up across the street. It shook through the walls. It vibrated the floor. It screamed through my bones. I put in ear plugs. I moved into a different, further room. I put my head right next to the high velocity fan over which I can’t ever hear the TV.

There was no salvation.

It only lasted 40 minutes, and then they were gone and the world was quiet again.

Not that that helped me any, because I still had insomnia and couldn’t return to sleep easily. It isn’t like this is the first time, either. And every single time, it is always after a night I spent struggling to get any sleep at all. Why? Why? Why do work crews do this? Why must they do the noisiest activity of their day first thing? Why can’t they at least wait until nine? And how is it that they manage to do this only when I haven’t slept?

Grrrrr. Visions of Fargo danced in my head.

Just another boring week

I know, I know. You are wondering what I’ve been doing all week. Well, it’s just been so exciting.

Monday: Fell down in front of people at work.

Tuesday: Fell down in front of people at work.

Wednesday: Avoided falling down. Started wheezing.

Thursday: Cedar (mountain juniper) season began in earnest. I took an Allegra at noon. My nose kept running. I took Sudafed. My nose kept running. Except for when it was sneezing. I work with the public, mind you. I called the doctor’s office to beg an appointment. How about Monday? Ha! I’d be lucky to last so long. OK, squeeze in for Friday morning? Perfect.

I get home at 9:30 PM, my nose still running. I took Claritin. Yes, I know I’m not supposed to layer antihistimines, but I do, because antihistimines are easy to get but steroids always require a prescription.

Friday: I’m so tired, between the allergies and antihistimines that I can hardly stand. I get to the doctor’s. I wasn’t trying to go for the death warmed over look, but I suppose the chest rattle makes it convincing. Steroids! Fresh new inhaler and sinus spray, ridiculously expensive but I no longer have to contemplate telling my supervisor that I will be taking sick leave during our most hectic time of the semester.

Saturday: Now it’s just the regular pain of my left leg feeling like it is rotting and my hands being stood on by elephants. And the falling in public.

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Heroes

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C.P.? They have got to be kidding. She was so disabled by C.P. that she could not walk, but she somehow managed to build a scare crow in the corn field and make regular visits to talk to it? That’s one unusually accessible corn field. And how’s she fitting back into her braces? Last I knew, metal doesn’t have particularly elastic qualities. I know, I’m just nitpicking on an issue that most viewers won’t catch at all, but still, sheesh.

It does look like Daphne’s belief that Arthur Petrelli had given her her powers was just a lie he had told her to control her. Maybe she and her dad are both particularly gullible, and she never had C.P. but rather one of hundreds of other possible mobility conditions that her lazy-ass small town doctor couldn’t be bothered to read up on. OK, that’s my fanwank, and I’m sticking to it.

I hate allergies

“Atopy” comes from an ancient Greek term meaning “out of place.”  How appropriate.

Yesterday, I got nothing done.   And it’s all because of allergies.  I hate allergies.  Of all the things that my body does to make my life more, er, interesting, allergies are the worst.  I started having slight asthma symptoms at the beginning of the week, but since I was having a fairly laidback week it wasn’t anything I couldn’t ignore.  And then yesterday, the mucous membranes got into the act.  In a bid to stop the constant flow and sneezing, I was taking antihistimines every two hours.  Everything I took was supposed to work a minimum of four hours, and some for twelve.  But faced with my immune system’s insistence on working overtime, Claritin, Drixoral, Zyrtec, and Benedryl merely tuck tail and run.  So, in exchange for minimal relief from the incapacitating symptoms, I got the side effects of lethargy and heaviness and mind-racing panic from the antihistimines.  It’s always a toss-up as to which is worse.

I had decided I’d go to the clinic today for steroids if I wasn’t better, but fortunately the big storm we had seems to have given me a reprieve.   I’m grateful, because I could see I was headed fast to a full-fledged general atopic collapse.