Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Sneezy, wheezy and what am I writing about?




I have been sneezing non-stop for a week.  If ever I doubted the state of my soul, then surely the thousand off-hand blessings have managed to sterilize it.  A relative newcomer to the world of allergies, I have found myself in awe of every sniffly-nosed, red-eyed mutant who has gone before me armed with tissues and the wearying exchange of post-nasal courtesy.   Bad enough, I think, to feel that tell-tale tickle behind the septum, that fuzzy foreknowledge of the involuntary act.  Bad enough to find your fingers twitching for that last bit of tissue, already wadded and used to tattered remnants.  Bad enough the act itself, the violent cessation of thoughtful endeavor as body and brain task themselves to the expulsion of...goo.  Bad enough all that.

But that's when it starts.  

"Bless you."

The first one is a surprise.  Your head hurts just a little and you're hoping you didn't just slime the paperwork you were proofing.  Nor are you sure just which of your co-workers it was that said it.  Your ears are feeling a little thick, a little full.  

You blink, still snuffling into the least soiled corner of your wadded tissue.  You look up, intending to say "thank you."  But there's another voice and another blessing from over-top the cubicle wall.  The words echo behind you.  Snot is clinging to the tip of your nose and you feel a little bit of spray-over on your knuckle.  "Thank you," you say, or you try to.

Your voice has turned strange and there's a gob of...something...in your throat.  You try to cough without coughing, swallowing at the wad of what you thought you'd just sneezed out.  You swipe at your nose, that pesky bit of snot, fumble through your purse in hope of a stray napkin or, needs must, a receipt.  "Thank you," you say, pushing the words out to the office-at-large.

You sneeze again.
                


It doesn't end.  One sneeze, three sneezes, a dayful of sneezes, a week.  There's a blessing behind every sneeze, blessings in triplicate, in quintuplicate even.  Sometimes, they'll change it up on you, a "G'bless" here and a Gesundheit there.  It is, after all, a little awkward to be the fourth "bless you" in a series.  Yes, kindness abounds.  A thousand good wishes when all you really want to do is sniffle into your tissues and be left alone.  



And here I am trying to write something.  I had grand plans for what I would write.  Initially, I thought my first entry for the Writers-of-Kern blog challenge and my whatever-number-this-is for ROW80, would be full of grand writerly thoughts.  But all I could produce was...were sneezes.

Sometimes, the words come.  Sometimes they come easily, like air into and out of my lungs.  I have been consumed at times with poetry, some snippet of sound that needed to find paper.  More often, words come in spurts, intermittent, labored like that same air after another aborted effort at exercise.

Today, you get sneezes.  I get sneezes.  So, God Bless and thank you all.



Row 80 Progress:  Not worth mentioning.  Today, start new.
Revised Row 80 goals:  250 words a day, Reading every day, Exercise...3 times a week.  
  

16 comments:

  1. My wife is a triple-threat sneezer. She rarely--if ever--sneezes once. There is (pretty much) ALWAYS a secondary sneeze seconds later, then I count to five before saying "Gesundheit" in case it is the usual triple play.

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    1. Yep, sounds familiar! Thanks for dropping in! :-)

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  2. I so understand. My goal was to start my new novel this week. and all I got was me sleeping on the couch trying to keep my kids from burning down the house while I was a sick mess, sneezing and coughing every few seconds. Great Post!

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    1. Keeping the kids from burning the house down is definitely important...do not discount that endeavor! Hope you're feeling better and thanks for commenting!

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  3. Anna,
    I really enjoyed your post and laughed outloud. Not at you of course, because we've all experienced the woes of allergies. My mother-in-law used to sneeze those tiny little 'choo, choo, choo's all in a row, about a dozen or more. My dad would vibrate the windows, and one would need to check if we suffered hearing loss after his sneezes.

    My challenge is nose blowing. I never could be petite or quiet. To get the job done mine must sound like a foghorn. Sorry folks, that's just the way I am!
    Great post. I look forward to reading more.

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    1. Thanks, Joan. And it would be okay even if you were laughing at me...I laugh at myself often enough. :-) Thanks for popping in!

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  4. I'm already starting to experience the effects of spring and sneezing over every little particle of pollen. I'm thinking about stuffing an entire box of tissues into my purse before going out tonight, haha.

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    1. I definitely recommend it...better than my usual habit of wadding tissues in my pockets. Lol! Thanks for commenting! :-)

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  5. Your entry reminded me of the time I walked into the North High office after school and a counselor sneezed with gusto and volume. I used my teacher voice to call out, "God bless you!" he replied without a pause, "Thank you!" The clerks at the attendance windows were frozen in place as well as the students caught betwixt he and I.
    I am blessed with asthma and sinus issues so I always have a box of tissues handy.
    May the rest of April be sneeze-free. Terry

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    1. Your mouth to God's ear...definitely tired of the sneeze. Thanks for reading!

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  6. Love your detailed descriptions, Anna. Oh, and "bless you."

    xoA

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  7. there with you - alergies, colds and just reactions to change in temperature - sneeze in ladylike discfetion? nah not a hope - i too rattle the windows. Great post brought a sympathetic smile to my face - won't depress you with my length of servitude:) all the best

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    1. Glad to know I'm not alone...thanks for commenting! :-)

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  8. It takes a very good writer to make sneezing and allergies interesting. Well done.
    And just in case,
    "Bless You."

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