Allergies

When I was in 1st and 2nd grade, I would look at the kids who had allergies—struggling to breathe, wrestling with their inhalers—and think, "I'm so glad I don't have allergies." It seemed like the most miserable fate in the world.

Somewhere along the line, "I'm so glad I don't have allergies" turned into "I don't have allergies," and that was the story I stuck to.

When I lived in Austin, I had so much trouble sleeping my first winter that I had to go on medication for whatever it was that I was allergic to. But I didn't really have allergies.

In Houston, I missed the occasional day of work after waking up with bloated sinuses. But I didn't really have allergies.

My first four months in Portland were a waste. I thought I was just tired from the move and the life change. I didn't really have allergies.

Earlier this summer, with the weeds in the yard out of control and my sinuses keeping me on the porch, I finally had to admit that…yeah, I have allergies.

So from now on, during the sunny months (May to October), I will be taking Zyrtec every morning, and being thankful that the science of allergy control has improved so much in the last 30 years.