“There’s a new pill you can take, made of house dust mites, that stops you being allergic to them,” Dad says. We’re in the car on the way to an important family event: my new baby cousin’s circumcision.
“Yum,” I say.
“Isn’t that what that weird allergy doctor recommended in the summer?” Mum says.
“Don’t call him weird,” I say, staring out of the window, blowing my nose. “My doctors are my only friends.”
“Your plastic surgeon isn’t weird,” Mum says.
“Would be good to get rid of the house dust mite allergy, wouldn’t it?” Dad says.
“Yes,” I say, trying to remember why Dad didn’t want me to have the vaccine that was mentioned in April or whenever it was.
Am at my Office, in the middle of my Important Work. All is not well, however. Have run out of my antihistamines and am itching all over. Nose is a bit snuffly, can cope with that. Am not prepared to sit here all day with an itchy self though.
As soon as have finished this coffee am going to the chemist to purchase some non-drowsy antihistamines as need to be able to concentrate on my work.
There’s always something, I think, sipping my coffee. There’s always some ache, pain or itch; some side effect of my cancer treatment or aspect of my mental disorder that is trying to prevent me doing anything with my life. Anything, that is, other than curling up under a blanket, watching daytime television and whimpering.
It’s impossible to concentrate on my Important Work whilst my entire self is burning with allergy symptoms though.
Have just started Winston Churchill’s The History Of The Second World War. Am a hundred pages into Volume One. There are six volumes. This ought to keep me busy for a while: the writing is wonderful and gripping.
The attached photo is the baby fluffy monster and some tulips.
Happy Monday everyone!
*2000. By Leslie Adams. A ‘Debutante Detective’ mystery, starring Porter Sienna.