Tag Archives: allergies

Will It Go Round in Circles

“Will it go round in circles

Will it fly high like a bird up in the sky”

     -Billy Preston

I’m on a lot of meds, like a 90-year-old lady number of meds.  I have medications for depression, anxiety, allergies, and asthma.  And you’ll never guess, but the drug from one illness will tend to cause side effects that are like the symptoms of another illness.  Or it might just cause the same side effect as the illness itself, which seems rather counterproductive.  Here are some examples.

Let's see, so the pink pills go in that bottle, and the blue ones . . . wait, where did I put them?   Eh, Alice will never notice.

Let’s see, so the pink pills go in that bottle, and the blue ones . . . eh, Alice will never notice.

For depression I take:

Wellbutrin and Zoloft.

– Wellbutrin can make you lose weight, while Zoloft can make you gain it. Zoloft also can make you sleepy or cause insomnia (say what?) while Wellbutrin can cause insomnia.   Oh and both can cause suicidal effects.  In a depression med.  Of course.

For anxiety I take:


-Klonopin relaxes you, but also makes you sleepy, or in some cases, cause insomnia (again, what?). It can also possibly cause chest congestion (see below) And finally, there’s the possible side effect of anxiety.  In an anti-anxiety drug.  Of course.

For asthma / allergies I take:

Dulera (long lasting asthma inhaler) – side effect?  Anxiety.  See above.  Also drowsiness.  Oh and possible asthmatic death. From an asthma inhaler.  Of course.

Dymista (nasal spray / antihistamine decongestant) – side effect?  Drowsiness.

Singulair (antihistamine / asthma med) – side effect? Can cause psychosis in kids!  In adults?  Tired feeling.

Me, hard at work.

Me, hard at work.

You might have picked up a trend here.  While some effects seem to negate the effects of other meds, some just enhance them.  And then there’s the fact that almost all of them can cause drowsiness, hence my tendency to be in a near coma and my new hobby being sleep.  This is beginning to irritate me.

I’m not exactly sure what to do at this point.  If I stop one, will it make my symptoms worse?  I mean, they are not so hot now, but they could always be worse.  And I have to be able to work and parent and crap like that.  But I’m going in cirlces.  Never ending nor beginning on an ever spinning wheel.

I am totally in the age of Aqaurius.

I am totally in the age of Aqaurius.

Anyone else going through stuff like this?  Have any suggestions?  Or some better drugs?  I want something to make me think I’m not needing or taking pharmaceuticals.  And please don’t say herbs.  They might be natural, but so is arsenic.  I’m thinking I want nothing but a good time.  Thoughts?


Medicine’s Guinea Pig


What I have learned so far in my journey to cleanliness and hopefully allergy-freeness.

You must push the start button on the dryer or your clothes don’t get dry.

Forgot to start the dryer again, clothes still wet, just keep smiling, %^&*^*^*

Forgot to start the dryer again, clothes still wet, just keep smiling, %^&*^*^*

Even if you push the button, they still won’t get dry the first time because something is off with the dryer and one day your husband might attempt to fix it whether he knows how or not, but you won’t even try because you know nothing about the internal workings of devices.  For instance, electricity = magic.

Something is wrong with this dryer . . .

Something is wrong with this dryer . . .

The steam mop has attachments that look like a rifle.  It’s fun to fire but doesn’t necessarily get the cleaning results you want.

This ought to take care of that soap scum.  FIRE!

This ought to take care of that soap scum. FIRE!

Your family will actively plot against you and undo everything you’ve done.

Even the freaking dog cleans.  This is not a realistic family unless we are in Stepford.

Even the freaking dog cleans. This is not a realistic family unless we are in Stepford.

Your husband will continue to insist on doing things his way, ie keeping his clean socks and underwear in a drawer in the bathroom and wadding up clothes and shoving them in the closet.

Now YOUR stuff goes in the dresser, but mine goes in the bathroom.

Now YOUR stuff goes in the dresser, but mine goes in the bathroom.

Your husband will also keep buying used vaporizers that are coated in dirt and probably mold and were made in 1970 so you will never find the filters for it and he will say “The thing has filters?”  He will insist on using it.

Only five bucks!

Only five bucks!

You will keep forgetting to put on your dust mask and gloves (even though it’s fun to say “Paging Dr. Alice” and backing out doorways with your hands help up) because you got down and started scrubbing something and there’s no way you’re getting up again to get it. So you are breathing all the dust directly in when really you should be wearing the dust mask and not breathing at all.

Okay, ready to start.

Okay, ready to start.

The vacuum will not suck up everything.

Unless it's a Noo Noo.  I have yet to find one on amazon.

Unless it’s a Noo Noo. I have yet to find one on amazon.

When you vacuum curtains, be careful not to suck them into the vacuum cleaner.  It will suck those up.

Once you've sucked up the curtains, you no longer have to clean them!

Once you’ve sucked up the curtains, you no longer have to clean them!

It costs more to have them take dyes and perfumes OUT of cleaning products.

Well, you know, if you don't want to be safe . . .

Well, you know, if you don’t want to be safe . . .

When asked to clean, children must be monitored 24/7 so it’s like you’re just trying to manipulate puppets with the strings cut off.

Why did I wish them into real children?

Why did I wish them into real children?

Children will ask for breaks after five minutes of non-work.  They will not see the giant sleeping bag in the floor of their bedrooms.  They will suddenly have to go to the bathroom several times.  They will fight over who has done the least work whereas it is almost always a tie.

I vacuumed more than youuuu!

I vacuumed more than youuuu!

No matter how much you research before buying, your fabulous cleaning contraptions will somehow backfire.



For cleaning up messes, you’re about as well off to get one of these (and store him outside).

I call him Hoover.  Or Devil Puppy.  Take your pick.

I call him Hoover. Or Devil Puppy. Take your pick.

Nature Hates Me


The flowers are plotting
 against you!

`Didn’t you know that?’ cried another Daisy, and here they all began shouting together, till the air seemed quite full of little shrill voices. `Silence, every one of you!’ cried the Tiger- lily, waving itself passionately from side to side, and trembling with excitement. `They know I can’t get at them!’ it panted, bending its quivering head towards Alice, `or they wouldn’t dare to do it!’

`Never mind!’ Alice said in a soothing tone, and stooping down to the daisies, who were just beginning again, she whispered, `If you don’t hold your tongues, I’ll pick you!

                                                 -Through the Looking Glass

 My husband and I looked out over a lush field one day.  He said, “How beautiful.”  I said, “Look, goldenrod.”  I admit that I’m not a big nature freak.  The great outdoors is fine, as long as there’s a working bathroom and some electrical outlets nearby.  (Roughing it is staying in a tent in my backyard.)  So it’s not that I don’t like nature.  It’s that I’m allergic to nature.  All of it.

I had my allergies tested recently.  I am allergic to almost every tree, grass, or weed in existence.  Green and I don’t get along.  Also, I’ve got allergies to those cute little fluffy kitties and puppies.  And birds.  Don’t get me started on how much I hate birds.  Even if their feathers didn’t make me cough and weeze, I’d want to strangle the chirp out of them. 

When I go into a garden, I can’t stop and smell the roses, unless I want lots of sneezing followed by a possible sinus infection.  I feel like Alice in the garden of live flowers – as if every flower were sneering at me and making rude comments.  “Haha, you think your Zyrtec will protect you, eh?  Eat pollen, evil flower-picking human!” 

I could try to hide indoors, but well-meaning people are always bringing nature indoors.  “Look at this beautiful house plant with the lovely mold growing in the soil!”  (I also have a mold allergy.  Shocked, aren’t you?)  Or, “See my cute widdle poodle Snookums – he likes you, awwww.”  Of course he llikes me, the little devil.  I really can’t figure out the concept of animals indoors anyway.  They shed, so you’ve got hair to rub off your clothes all the time.  I don’t even like my own hair once it’s left my body.

This is waiting under your covers.

I am also allergic to cows and horses, which means I can never realize my one, true dream of owning my own ranch . . . cough, cough, okay the sarcasm hurts.  But while I am not interested in gardening, farming, or ranching, I am interested in being able to breathe.  I want to go outdoors and not be worried about breathing in pollen.  I want to be indoors and not worry about the mold, or the dust mites (Never heard of dust mites?  They are teeny, tiny disgusting bugs that leave their feces all over the place.  In your carpet, your drapes, on your bed where you sleep.  Think of that when you go to bed tonight.)

There are treatments for allergies and asthma.  I’m on allergy shots, where they perversely expose you to stuff you are allergic to on purpose in hopes that eventually your body will quit reacting to it, or you’ll die, whichever’s first.  Also, I take antihistimines and decongestants – you’ve probably seen them advertised by that bee with the sexy Spanish accent.  (By the way, bees can also cause major, life-threatening allergic reactions and can hide deep in plants.  Think about that next time you garden.)  There are cases to keep your mattresses and pillows in that supposedly repell the bad guys, and filters you can buy to get the stuff out of the air – although how would one know if they really work, seeing as how no one can actually see the microscopic particles?  “Just trust us,” the over priced allergy products people say. 

Otherwise, about all I can do is avoid the triggers as much as I can.  But they’re everywhere, so this can easily lead to paranoia which can lead to murderous thoughts toward your husband for leaving the window open AGAIN even though you’ve been married to him for twelve years and he knows how sick the outdoors makes you.  He just likes the fresh air, ya know.  Well, he’s not going to have ANY air if he . . . well, you get the drift.  Allergies make you testy, and sick. They aren’t usually life threatening. (Unless it’s like peanuts.  People have actually died from kissing a person who ate a pack of peanuts.  Remember, protection people.  Ask your partner to wear a mouth guard).  They are, however, a daily hindrance, and can lead to frequent minor, but costly illnesses.  So that’s one reason why I’m not a nature lover.  Nature hated me first.

Also, there are no natural electrical outlets.

No Pets Allowed

Oh, great, I look like a
snausage to him!

An enormous puppy was looking down at her with large round eyes, and feebly stretching out one paw, trying to touch her. `Poor little thing!’ said Alice, in a coaxing tone, and she tried hard to whistle to it; but she was terribly frightened all the time at the thought that it might be hungry, in which case it would be very likely to eat her up in spite of all her coaxing.
                                          -Alice in Wonderland

I have no use for pets.  This wasn’t always the case.  There was a time, as my mother loves to recall, that I begged and begged and for a dog or a cat.  The family dog died when I was 16, and I so wanted something to take care of and pet and all that stuff.  But no, just because they didn’t want to be stuck with an animal for 15 years or so when I got out of the house, I was denied.

Well, now my parents have their revenge.  My youngest daughter really wants a puppy.  I mean, really, it’s serious here.  She mentions it constantly.  My reasons were clear.  I don’t wanna,  This does not suffice for her.

She is very good at showing her pitifulness by tying my honor cord around the neck of a stuffed dog and dragging it along behind her.  Oh, yes, Mommy, I would take care of it.  Sure, she would.  I know who would take care of it, and I don’t wanna.  I used to want pets, because I wanted to be a mother (another one of those odd dreams!) and baby something.  Well, I need no more babies since mine are well out of diapers. I am not scooping any more poop.

At least I thought I wasn’t.  My husband – yes, my husband, not the kids – brought home a water turtle and a tank.  They were free, he said.  So hooray we had a pet.  Sasha the turtle lived in the laundry room, where occasionally she would bump against the glass while I loaded laundry and make me jump out of my skin.  I didn’t care for Sasha.  I’m sad to say that I thought of ways to do Sasha in.  I mean, I was very close to the bleach in the laundry room.  Oops.  But I didn’t.  Lucky for me, she died on her own.

“Hey, anyone know the number for PETA?”

Unluckily for me, my husband then took the girls to a pet store, swearing that they were only going to look.  Why do I continue to trust this guy?  Anyway, they come home with another free turtle.  But this time it’s not a water turtle, it’s a tortoise.  A Sulcatta tortoise.  In case you have never heard of these turtles, they’re from Africa, they live like 100 years, and, oh yeah, they grow to be FREAKING HUGE!!!!  Like Alice’s puppy, the thing makes me a little nervous.

But hey, it was free!  Well, except for vet visits, and food, and a place for it to live.  We had this minor problem of having no fence.  My husband had been meaning to build a fence for around three years or so.  He got about half done, and stopped.  So we had this huge turtle – luckily for us he is still a “baby” and only about the size of a small dog, if said dog were lower to the ground and had a shell and leathery skin – walking slowly around our house and wedging himself into corners where he would stay for so long you’d have to nudge him with your foot to make sure he was alive.  You see, the reason he was free was that this was a “Special Needs” turtle.  He’d injured his mouth and couldn’t eat.

So then we have this turtle in our house that only eats through a syringe, when my husband gets in the mood to even try feeding it, and who wanders around scaring the crap out of me and at times, nearly making me trip.  At one point, he camped out near our computer, and I realized just how insane my life was.  I followed it a lot, searching for any signs that he had left me “presents” in my house.  Let me tell you, I have enough trouble with house cleaning without pets adding to the mess.  But I didn’t see anything, so I wondered seriously how the thing was even surviving.  There should be a warning sign on our house – my husband loves to collect animals, but the whole taking care of it part is sorta secondary.  They usually don’t survive that long.

But so far, this one lives.  On air, maybe?  Is his metabolism so slow he only needs food every year or so?  I’m not sure.  We had very hot weather – a drought – for several months.  Eventually, dear husband , thanks to a little elbow grease and a warning from Code Enforcement, put up our fence, and Mr. Turtle got to go to his natural environment, Africa.  Everyone else hated the weather, but he seemed to like it.  As much as turtles can express liking something, which isn’t much.  Mr. Turtle did get a name.  I named him Rio because I like Duran Duran.  It makes no sense, but neither does the poor turtle. 

But then it rained.  Good for the land, bad for me.  Rio is back inside, and still alive.  My daughter wants a dog now.  I told her we had a turtle.  But a small part of me now wants a Doberman, ya know, as a pal to Rio.  Not really.  Rio has that tough shell, and can apparently survive everything, even my family.  I admit I identify with him.  He’s totally out of his element, he’s slow, he likes to nap, but he’s persistent.

Still, if he poops on my carpet, we are going to have a discussion, woman to turtle.