I have enterred the Tenth Circle of Hell: Springtime, the one not written about in Dante's Divine Comedy.
If global warming is can kill all pollen-producing trees and flowers and every other allergen that has created the never ending faucet that has become my nose, then crank up the heat and burn this baby down.
I have been fortunate not to have struggled with springtime allergies -- until this year. I am in absolute misery. And I know I am not exaggerating because my normally sympathy-vacant husband is actually nice, and well, sympathetic to my plight.
I don't have to describe the sinus pressure, the runny nose to those who know what I am talking about. But I am lucky. I have a symptom that not many other people have -- I physically react to pollen -- a very itchy rash not unlike poison ivy which has caused me to literally bathe in anti-itch creams and lotions. Walgreens knows me by my first name.
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