Tuesday, April 6, 2010

For a few wretched moments today, my life would’ve flashed before my very eyes, were it not for the fact they were damn near swollen shut from the pollen. You simply can’t enjoy a glossy montage of your greatest hits via an itchy, red, half-closed glare, you know? It’s just incredibly inconvenient, and I don’t see the state of affairs changing anytime soon for the next few weeks. Spring is in full swing, heralded by daily highs in excess of 85 degrees Fahrenheit, and with it hay fever in its most virulent splendor. Constant headaches, phlegm to spare, watery eyes, car covered in a fine green powder within hours of washing–I shall not want for anything, at least.

This is the special time of year when allergy sufferers are fucked by trees. Literally. To be clear, I’m not suggesting a fucking with here, if we may keep our prepositions in order. It’s not like the row of pines behind your office is playing a clever practical joke on you, then slugging you in the arm to let you in on it. No, we’re cleaving closely to definition number one, because there are some vile elements floating through the air right now: aerosolized sap, spores, grass particulates, and heaven knows what other kinds of flower lovin’ are shooting down your tear ducts.

I hightailed it out of the Midwest because of the bitter cold. Here in the South, winters are indeed milder, but I can only leverage this so much before I need to pay up again, with severe allergies as the currency of choice. Is there any region of the U.S. that boasts a temperate climate, little pollen, and reasonable cost of living? Does such a place even exist? Or perhaps there’s some larger life lesson to be learned here, where one season will invariably be a wash. Three out of four ain’t bad, I suppose.