"A" is for Allergies

I think I’m allergic to Alabama.

Seriously, either I have the longest, most tenacious cold known to humankind or I am allergic to all the things that make this place so beautiful.

Beautiful cherry blossoms. Ugly pollen inside.

Fact: As soon as buds started to bloom my nose started to run.

Fact: I feel worse after spending time outside.

I may look happy here, but I'm pretty sure if you zoomed in you could see how badly I needed a tissue.

Fact: Miserably stuffy with what feels like a coagulated mess in the nether regions of my throat, I checked weather.com during this weekend’s severe storms. Right next to the tornado warning were these words: “High Pollen Alert.”

Speculation: This pollen might kill me as surely as a tornado squarely hitting my house. Except a tornado-related death would likely be swifter.

1957 Tornado near Rosa, AL. Photo by NOAA.

Several years ago, I spent an April weekend visiting my parents in North Carolina. The sinus pain was akin to my imagining of Dante’s Ninth Circle of Hell.

Might I rather hang with that huge, winged Satan than have these allergies? I'm about ready to make that deal with the devil. (Etching by Gustave Dore.)

But wait: I grew up in North Carolina and didn’t have allergies. So, could I really have been having an allergic reaction?

The short answer is: “who knows?”

My New York doctor tested me for New York allergies (tests, of course, came back negative for allergies to trash, fake Gucci bags and fabulousness). 

Not allergic to these fake bags, but I still wouldn't carry one. Via HauteMIMI.

But New York pollen and North Carolina pollen are not created equal – they require two different tests. And I fear that Deep South pollen is even worse (for me) than Mid-South pollen.

So, here I am just a week into spring, and already I'm anxious for the seasons to change.

Now, that's just pitiful.