I DO NOT HAVE ALLERGIES

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself, because if this past year has taught me anything it’s that I can achieve some things through sheer force of will. If I command myself not to have adult-onset allergies, much as Blair Waldorf once commanded herself not to be pregnant (it worked!), I will not have them. This is a completely unscientifically proven non-fact.

The thing is, I should have allergies. My father spent much of the first five years of his life in an oxygen tent of all cockamamie things because of his horrible asthma, and he’s very allergic to a bunch of stuff, not the least of which are grass and pollen and cat dander and dust and pretty much anything that floats upon the air and can be inhaled. And yet, miraculously, neither me nor my brother and sister have asthma, and, though my sister is allergic to cat dander, my brother and I aren’t allergic to anything (well, I’m supposedly allergic to amoxicillin, but that’s not really very relevant).

But recently, recently, I’ve been having sneezing bouts and itchy eyes and I’m a little nervous that my bad allergy genes are coming back to haunt me, or haunting me anew, as it were. So I’m going to keep repeating this little mantra: YOU DON’T HAVE ALLERGIES, you DON’T have ALLERGIES–until it all goes away. Look at me! With a lot more motivation I could’ve written The Secret.

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