Allergies are not another way the universe demonstrates its love for us.

Nor are any afflictions that cause pain–real or imagined.

So, instead of rushing to treat them, some of us try to figure out what it is that causes them in the first place. This can begin a path of self-medication, pre-treatment and wonder at what else these conditions can cause.

In the case of allergies, for me, it is annoyance.

Several years ago when I had my first experience with Ohio River Valley allergy season, I thought I was coming down with strep throat or the flu. People I worked with told me how bad I sounded. I was fatigued, my body ached and I started eating copious amounts of cough drops in an attempt to make it easier to swallow.

Then I realized it was allergies. I can’t remember how I came to the conclusion that this was what was ailing me.

Did someone tell me that quite possibly it was allergies?

Perhaps.

But in the end, once I knew it was allergies it became a source of irritability for me and for good reason.

You don’t feel good when you’re experiencing spring hay fever.

When I don’t feel good I get irritable. With irritability comes impatience. And with impatience comes stupid behavior.

Like I think in order to write something here I need complete silence.

As if having noise of any kind is reason enough to feel there is no way I can blog or write anything of merit tonight.

So, as someone who treats their allergies with a less expensive facsimile version of Flonase, I set out to prove that I could struggle through distractions, ponder the meaning of life and still come up with something decent here.

Time will tell but so far to me it feels as if this has absolutely no merit or value at all.

But, I can’t help denying the feeling that this piece was meant to be–as are all of the pieces I compose–here, there and everywhere!

…

Some say ridiculous things like if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck and waddles like a duck it must be a duck.

In the case of this missive my alter ego just whispered in my ear that this composition is so far a steaming pile that completely resembles a steaming pile to this point.

…

Once it quieted down some I thought I could write unbelievably great prose. But as the noise soon resumed I thought I could drown my renewed irritability with some classical music.

After all, reason would dictate that classical music is conducive to creativity.

But no, not when the sounds of squeaking floor boards above–aka old house charm horribly combine with classical music to induce visions of the St. Valentine’s Day massacre in slow motion–definitely not a harmonious combination.

So what have we learned so far here this evening?

I’m not sure a lesson has been inscribed so much as the value of the time otherwise spent trying to sleep can now be considered somewhat of a win.

Some days are born for greatness.

More are birthed for mediocrity.

And yet still others, like this missive if looked upon kindly, fall somewhere in between.