Lately, I’ve had that old familiar feeling again. My heart is fluttering, my pulse is racing, I feel like I’m walking on air. Only one thing can turn a mature adult into a grinning idiot like this. You guessed it. I’m on allergy medication.
Normally, I’m not a drug user. Once, as an undergrad, someone gave me a joint and I smoked it alone while watching The Sound Of Music on TV. I found the movie totally hilarious until the very end when it turned terribly tragic. By the time the youngest Von Trapps were being toted over the Swiss Alps, I was weeping uncontrollably, vowing to devote my life to the well-being of all displaced, musically gifted Austrians. Then I fell asleep.
My only other drug experience was during childbirth. I wasn’t exactly poster girl for Natural Childbirth Monthly. I wanted the drugs. I wanted all the drugs. My children are now 22 and 19 and I still want the drugs.
Faced with seasonal allergies, I first thought I’d try drug-free therapy. A website suggested I keep a diary of anything that seems to cause an “elevated reaction.” The first day my list read, “Conversation with my mother, trying to find parking downtown, PVR failing to record House.” My partner, Liz, suggested they’d meant an elevated reaction in sneezing. Oh.
Second day, my “elevated reaction” diary read, “Everything I come near.” It was time for drugs.
I cautiously sorted through the boxes at the drugstore. Most warned, “Do not take while operating heavy machinery.” No problem. I drive a Smart car. I did make a mental note not to hijack a backhoe during the day. Several medications had side-effect lists that reminded me of American television drug ads, “May cause dizziness, brain implosion, spontaneous levitation, and arm to fall off, but it will clear up that unsightly rash, no problem.”
Having made my choice, my days now go:
7 a.m.: Wake up.
7:30 a.m.: Able to pry sore eyes open enough to locate allergy medication. Take pill.
7:32-9:40 a.m.: This stuff is useless. It has no effect whatsoever. I can’t believe they’re allowed to sell … wait …
9:40 a.m. – 7:30 p.m.: La, la, la. I am so happy. I’m a big, pink bunny. Or there’s one on my desk. Or both. I love Tom Harper …
7:30 p.m.: … huh? Achooo! Damn it.
Take and repeat.