It’s become impossible for me to continue writing; I can no longer see the keyboard through my tears.
And now my nose is running. And my throat is closing up.
It’s getting increasingly more difficult by the day.
Why did I decide to write this story now?
The sleeve of my rugby jersey has become a substitute for tissues.
Note to self: Buy tissues. Do laundry.
Through my closed windows I can hear the sounds of the city awakening to a new day, and I’m grateful for anonymity in a city of four million.
Soon my eyes will be swollen shut and I’m not even half-way through the manuscript.
“Pull yourself together!” I tell myself. “You’re a hundred words or less from wrapping up the night. Clear your throat, blow your nose, dry your tears and continue writing!”
Revised note to self: Buy tissues. Do laundry. Take Benadryl.
I hate allergy season.
Causes Anne Harper Supports
Doctors without Borders. SPCA. American Cancer Society.