You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy™
My nose.
It’s a trumpet. It’s a vortex. It’s a tornado siren.
I am blowing it incessantly.
children cry. Boats manuever away from the shore.
Construction workers take lunch.
It’s Fred Flinstone’s Yabba Dabba Doo.
It’s amazing. Like an out-of-body experience. My nose is so loud right now, it doesn’t feel a part of me.
It’s a rocket engine on the launch pad and it’s just brimming with fire and gas.
Spring is in the air. It’s also in my respiratory system.
I swore I was going to the doctor. I didn’t. I need to. I might die if i don’t.
When I do go he will look to my chart and say “uh huh”.
Like clock work, each and every year, I come to him for salvation.
“Gimme the medicine, Doc.” I will cry like a junkie needing a fix.
It’s the Spring Thing.
But until he gives me that magic shot. I will be congested, miserable, stuffed like a phlegm sausage.
So I will blow and blow and blow.
I am a wind instrument in a h.s. band. I am a Tuba puffing from the back row trying to keep time. I am a wind tunnel for BMW aerodynamic testing.
Loud?
Ah, maybe.
I am a cement mixer, my head spinning, my nose grinding, kleenex being obliterated a roll a day.
If I have Kleenex, I am fortunate. If I don’t, whatever is nearby will have to do.
I’ll blow my nose in paper towel and news paper and rug samples.
Note to self: shag is rough on the nostrils.
I am so loud in spring, the birds won’t nest in my yard.
My neighbors say keep it down over there.
I am a honking, blowing, noise citation.
Is that the police outside my window with a noise meter?
I am not sure why I am so loud in Spring.
It’s the atmospheric pressure and right amount of fluid clogging just the right amount of respiratory passages.
But I am loud. Perhaps I am unique. Perhaps I am chosen by the Respiratory Failure Gods.
Perhaps I am a modern-day Samoan, blowing my conk shell like nose on the beach.
I can imagine it. I raise my chin and push my nose to the stars and blow.
A magical sound like galloping unicorns emerges. It sounds like the battle cry of starving villagers racing to the lone banana tree.
So I will go to the doctor. He will look in his chart. He will laugh his doctor laugh. He will ask me why I missed my colonoscopy appointment and why I don’t eat better. We will go through the doctor dance of Q & A. He will give me my shot and eventually I will lose the ability to summon magical fairies from the forest with my face.
My nose hurts. My nostrils are flared like a horse giving birth to another horse.
I don’t even know what that means.
Hello Spring. Bring your warmth and your Easter Eggs. But please take your pollen and go away.
Life’s Crazy™