Too Sensitive

Sometimes my dad says, “I’m too sensitive.”

Like the apples with sunburns or trees that get drunk on carbon dioxide.

“Is it a bad allergy day?” my aunt asks.

The sunlight is too bright. The wisp of air across my cheek annoys.

Maybe I’m like my dog, easily offended.

Too sensitive. Easily offended.

What does that mean?

I was tested for allergies last year. It confirmed the only strong reaction was to ragweed. My option was shots. Dull the reaction. Literally poke by poke, a thicker skin.

I never experienced seasonal allergies growing up. I lived in Guatemala for ten years in my twenties (where my dog was born). After returning, my first summer was marked by itchy watery eyes, trouble breathing, plugged ears – an allergy.

When you research allergies, there is a lot of information about people developing allergies in adulthood.

“You should feel better after the front goes through. The rain will beat the pollen down,” my dad hypothesizes.

Maybe I’m not allergic to just one thing … still, there’s been a lot of rain.

I make an appointment with the doctor. They draw blood. I wait for the results to say something helpful.

Ragweed. Strong reaction to ragweed, only.

The research says the allergy can happen when you move to a new place. I’m not in a new place geographically.

A new place in life?

“Drops in a bucket,” my dad says.

Finally they overflow.

Or a heightened awareness of particular details? I consider the words I’m willing to hear and the ones I’m not. Maybe it’s not the number of drops, but a redirected course.

Not many writers have become famous by publishing about their allergies, but it seems like an opportunity. Here are a few of my blogs about my own.

Al*er*gy

After the Front Goes Through

(Allergic) Reactions