I created this blog to be a space for not-so-bookish posts, anything from political commentary to snarky rants on our oblivious march into a (more) dystopian future (or preferably our dystopian march into oblivion). The first post was to be something smart and witty in that vein, but alas, it's going to be about nasal mucus (aka snot), neti pot love, and a ridiculous faucet-obsessed cat.
It all started yesterday, a beautiful, clear-skied 70-degree day, a perfect autumnal crispness floating through the St. Louis haze, the sun giving the color-turned leaves that delicious warm glow, etc. etc. etc. I had just finished a refreshing novel and decided it was time to get off my reader-bodied ass and go for an invigorating, runner-body-inducing run.* I should have realized my mistake when I noticed that, mysteriously, no one else was wandering the streets. No walkers, runners, strollers, idlers, not even a smoker to be seen. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, after all, was there some sporting event trifecta keeping everyone inside, glued to their televisions, I wondered?
No. As soon as I got home, my face rendered itself a gushing faucet of horribleness. Apparently everyone but me saw the sky-writing alert about this particular fresh air being terrible for hay fever sufferers and locked themselves smartly indoors. No amounts of any of the variety of antihistamines at my disposal made the slightest dent in the mucus explosion that was my face.
The watery snot torrents continued to flow freely from my nose and eyes (ok, just water there, no snot, I'm not quite that freakish) well into today. I might as well have been in a coma for all the work I got done, at "work." Why I didn't think to try neti magic last night, I cannot tell you. I remembered this magical device and dreamt of it for most of the day, mostly while slumped sadly over my desk between blurred attempts to add to my research project and blurred attempts to communicate my misery to the outside world.
(You're wondering where on earth the cat comes into this story, right? No? Oh. Well, anyway, soon.)
The moment I arrived home (well, a few moments after that, actually, when I remembered the magic neti pot I'd quickly forgotten while cursing at the heavy box of mouse traps on the doorstep, a gift from UPS, due to an incident from last week... another time), I ran, with gazelle-grace, into the bathroom, retrieved my saving contraption, filled it with the salt packet and warm water, and quickly shoved it up my nose.
Of course, Hankstar, our sweet, faucet drinking cat, was lingering in and around the sink the entire time, just waiting. I kept trying to shove him out of the way, especially since when you don't get the neti pot angled just right, it feels like you're drowning, and all the water rushes through your nose into the back of your throat, instead of out the other nostril. Unpleasant. What does Hankstar do? He attempts to drink the stream of salty snot water streaming from my nostril, because, apparently, to him, it was just another faucet from which to quench his undying thirst... for salty snot water. He can't quite find the right angle, though, and mostly just gets salty snot water all over his head, which he then shakes into my face, causing the unpleasant drowning posture, rinse, repeat...
Oh Hankstar. So, with the insides of my nasal passages now safely coating Hankstar's fur (who knew salty snot water did such wonders for his coat's sheen) and my face (no magic there), I'm feeling much better. I can breathe again, and I can almost see well enough to type this post. If you haven't discovered the joys of the neti pot and suffer from any sort of sinus problem, I highly recommend trying it out. Be sure to have a cat on hand to shake that snot water back into your face, or you might miss out on the sheer joy of it all.
(You're wondering where on earth the cat comes into this story, right? No? Oh. Well, anyway, soon.)The moment I arrived home (well, a few moments after that, actually, when I remembered the magic neti pot I'd quickly forgotten while cursing at the heavy box of mouse traps on the doorstep, a gift from UPS, due to an incident from last week... another time), I ran, with gazelle-grace, into the bathroom, retrieved my saving contraption, filled it with the salt packet and warm water, and quickly shoved it up my nose.
Of course, Hankstar, our sweet, faucet drinking cat, was lingering in and around the sink the entire time, just waiting. I kept trying to shove him out of the way, especially since when you don't get the neti pot angled just right, it feels like you're drowning, and all the water rushes through your nose into the back of your throat, instead of out the other nostril. Unpleasant. What does Hankstar do? He attempts to drink the stream of salty snot water streaming from my nostril, because, apparently, to him, it was just another faucet from which to quench his undying thirst... for salty snot water. He can't quite find the right angle, though, and mostly just gets salty snot water all over his head, which he then shakes into my face, causing the unpleasant drowning posture, rinse, repeat...Oh Hankstar. So, with the insides of my nasal passages now safely coating Hankstar's fur (who knew salty snot water did such wonders for his coat's sheen) and my face (no magic there), I'm feeling much better. I can breathe again, and I can almost see well enough to type this post. If you haven't discovered the joys of the neti pot and suffer from any sort of sinus problem, I highly recommend trying it out. Be sure to have a cat on hand to shake that snot water back into your face, or you might miss out on the sheer joy of it all.
*By "run" I mean the 30 minute, week one step of the couch to 5K program, one that I'm perpetually restarting due to pesky tendinitis. Week one involves only 9 minutes of actual running, each minute of running offset by 90 seconds of walking to catch my old lady breath.
