My mind is still intact (I think). The lethal combination of some horribly strong, cold Santa Ana winds and killer dust motes carrying toxic nose bombs exploded inside my head, causing me to sneeze non-stop until about an hour ago. Nothing I tried would stop it. Not Zyrtec, not a shower, not a nap, nothing. I was reduced to a spasmodic, sneezing heap in the middle of the bed, soaking through Kleenex like I was bleeding to death.
The last time this happened a couple of Sudafed stopped it cold, but getting Sudafed these days means surrendering your name, address, phone number, drivers’ license (yes, they do copy it), and signature to the Sudafed police. They assure me that my name will not go into a Federal database but being the good paranoid that I am, I don’t believe it for a second.
Nevertheless, that is exactly what I did. Between sneezes I handed over the drivers’ license dutifully, signed in three places and initialled in one so that I could score a 24-pack of Sudafed. Now I have my Sudafed and they have their database entry. Since I am barred from buying any more Sudafed until next month, I have to ration the 24-pill supply and stretch it as far into December as I possibly can.
God bless America. Don’t you all feel better knowing that they’re fighting such an inspired War on Drugs? I know I sleep better at night knowing that middle-aged perimenopausal women with explosive allergies are being tracked and kept from firing up their meth labs. Don’t you?
Technorati Tags: allergies, War on Drugs, Sudafed
