Recently I've noticed that I am growing more and more boring, which I attribute to age. It seems now that one of the most exciting things I can find to discuss is the weather. I'll discuss the weather with anyone who might listen, and it is clear that I am thrilled to have such fascinating content at my disposal: Saturday it was hot and Sunday it was cold! Madness!
I mentioned this to one of my college roommates, who is also getting older, interrupting a truly titillating conversation on wind, "do you think we're getting old? We talk about the weather". She did not see this as a problem, pointing out that we choose to talk about weather, rather than other more pressing things, like dry cleaning. This is a woman I lived with for almost four years; someone willing to discuss with me, in great depth, the motivation of the boy downstairs in taking his garbage out at midnight rather than 10:00 pm. Hours of our young lives spent, across the table from one another at Egg Roll King, trying to identify every ingredient in chicken fried rice. We talked into the night, on more than one occasion, in an effort to understand why the woman who drove the bus to campus didn't have the huge, hairy mole removed from her chin. We strove to understand the deep meaning behind the lyrics of every Janet Jackson song. We were never getting married, or we were but we were not changing our names, we were never having children, or we were having five. Our lives were wild, chocked full of intrigue and mystery, we were interesting. Now we are grown up and too busy to notice hairy moles on bus drivers.
Just when I thought I could not possibly get more dull my allergies arrived. Through my thoroughly congested nose I tell anyone who cares to listen about how difficult it is to breathe, how I can't believe how quickly this came on, how they do seem to be getting worse as I get older and yes, incorporating both my interests, "it must be the weather this year, allergies just seem to be worse than ever before". Understand I said they exact same thing last year, and the year before that.
Last week someone at school, clearly unable to listen to me blather on any longer, suggested I try the Neti Pot.
"Really? They look so awful, you run water through your nasal cavity? All of it, just irrigate the entire thing? And stuff comes out? Like, snot, things like that? In lumps, or clumps? Does it just run out in one long boogery stream? Is it one big horrid snotty mess? Sounds a bit scary really". She smiled and ran from the room.
This weekend I bought a Neti Pot. So overjoyed with the disgusting result, and my new found ability to take long deep breaths through my nose, I raced to the phone to call the college roommate. "No", said Jack, "just no".
He thwarted my attempts to post this miracle on Facebook. He reminded the children that I love them when I shouted, while still taking deep breaths, "Glory be! This is the single greatest day of my life" over and over and over. He tried to interrupt when I said that nothing had more dramatically altered my life than this miracle pot, nodding to the two children staring in complete shock at their temporarily allergen free mother.. He stopped me from explaining just how good it felt to breathe without congestion to the nice lady taking my breakfast order. And he yelled "no, stop, enough" when I stood on the back deck singing "I can breathe clearly now the goop is gone".
It's going to be unseasonably cool in Chicago this week. Bundle up if you live close to the water and don't let that sunny sky fool you, it's chilly out there! As it turns out, it was entirely possible to get more boring.