This works just as well as accepting mental illness. Or to quote that great American philosopher Popeye, ” Eye Yam What Eye Yam.”
I went running in a nearby park over the weekend resulting in a monumental allergy attack. My face swelled to balloon-like proportions, I was crying though not sad, and sneezing like I’d snorted a fistful of black pepper. I have allergies that have their own allergies. The attack was so severe I opted out of dinner plans and laid on the couch in a self-induced Benadryl coma covered by a blanket of self-pity, and detest for the unfairness of the world.
The next day, mid-recovery, eyes puffy, still sneezing, I fell into my usual pattern of self-loathing. Why me? Why am I the unlucky one allergic to the natural world? Languishing in self-pity is anything but productive. Laying there, I shifted my gaze to the bay window in my living room that opens up onto the street. I watched as a mother and son rode bikes. They were laughing and the mother was…
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