I’m sitting here sniffling. Well sniffling and snotting and sweating and itching and spitting up things I shouldn’t. Kleenex ain’t got nothing on me brother. Sounds like a head cold right? Holy hell no!
The bullshit of life is us pale, freckly, pigment-limited folk are basically allergic to life. I know there are terms for it now – mass cell disorder, pregnenolone deficient, histamine intolerant, genetic inflammatory condition cursed, but whatever you want to call it…it sucks.
Basically too much dust, dander, sun, food, alcohol, seasonal temperature or foliage shifts = itchy, red, stuffy, sore, insomniac days. Ya, it’s bullshit I tell ya. Benadryl is my best friend and explanations to people get fewer and farther between as my fucks given are less and less.
“Well my dear it’s not a real anaphylactic allergy, but basically too much stimuli makes your system react the same way.” Gee thanks Mother Nature. Or my Maker. Let’s meet. It’s hard to admit, but basically the gist is I’m allergic to life.
And sadly (for them) more and more people around me are starting to see similar trends as they age. Maybe this makes me lucky as I navigated the trials a decade or so ago, and have worked out a daily coping strategy, but screw you Batman – I spent my teens and twenties having no damn idea why I was sick all the time. I was a relatively-healthy drinking, eating, adjusted athlete who just seemed to be damned. Those gingers I tell ya.
However, misery loves company, so not so sadly (for me), the rest of my generation, guys and girls alike, seem to be catching up. My bf has mystery redness, my boss has pressure-induced stiff neck, her boss is stuffed and calamined, my sister-in-law’s sister-in-law had an unknown attack and here I am counselling and educating those poor unfortunate souls (cue evil Ursula laugh). And handing out migraine and allergy pills like they are candy. It’s not really good or bad, but it’s life. And you know what? I’m still standing. Maybe not pointing and laughing, but certainly thinking that maybe something good came out of all of this lifelong cursed crap. Maybe stretch marks from pregnancy won’t be my undoing, maybe navigating how to work alongside migraines and nerve damage won’t devastatingly derail my career, or even learning how to eat at restaurants and home without totally offending the cook...maybe that’s my silver lining, maybe that’s my happy place, or more appropriately, maybe that’s my ginger lining in life.
“You know, I’m still standing better than I ever did. Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid. And I’m still standing after all this time. I’m still standing….” – Elton John
The Ginga Ninja