Stuff Black People Hate

Sometime within the last 24 hours, my allergies decided to flare up for the first time in several years. I am now sitting here with a fucking sinus infection that’s making me want to flip out and kill people.

The following are the events of my life taking place between 7am yesterday, and 6:59am today.

7:00am - I arrive at work with a nose that feels unusually itchy. I ignore this for the most part as I split my time between railing on Hillary Clinton and trying not to fall asleep.

8:30am – Someone turns the lights on in the office. The bright, harsh, evil flourescent fucking lights.

When they flip on, I realize I have a headache. Then I notice the itchiness of my nose again. I am pissed.

11:30am – I go downstairs to the Korean deli where they only accept cash so they can evade taxes. Most of the women behind the counter also pretend not to be able to speak English, and you know they’re lying because in spite of their supposed lack of English skills, they somehow manage to laugh at Tyra Banks’ corny fucking jokes on her show that is ALWAYS on the TV in the deli.

By now I have ‘the sniffles’, but I don’t recognize it yet as allergies. I grab my food and run up the stairs five stories back to my office.

11:31am – I am inexplicably winded from running up five stories of stairs, considering that I did a 3-mile run in 23 minutes just a week ago. I sit at my desk and unwrap my nasty-ass korean gyro, take a bite and swallow. My throat is sore, and now I realize that my life is about to become miserable.

The sore throat is the first sign that minor but very annoying health problems in the form of a stuffy head, easy fatigue, headaches, and stuffy nose that is strangely runny at the same time are right around the corner.

2:00pm – I am MISERABLE. For the last two hours I’ve been working at my desk with my head tilted back and to the right while breathing out of my mouth. I look like Stephen Hawking. My nostrils are raw from blowing my nose. Some chick walks by and asks me about god-knows-what, and I respond in the tinny, nasal voice I have no choice but to use when I’m sick. She says “aw, you sound so cute when you’re sick!” I chuckle quietly, masking my urge to punch her in the vag.

3:00pm – Time to go home. I walk out the front door of the building and am greeted by the sun, which feels like it’s six inches from my fucking face and has now turned my minor sinus pressure into a full-blown headache. Some fuckstick walks by and says “gorgeous day isn’t it?!”. I want to flay this bastard and wear his skin as a war shirt while I murder everyone dear to him.

6:30pm – I’m at home working on a shitty oil painting that requires me to look down the whole time. It feels like there’s five pounds of fluid in my face, and it’s weighing down on the backs of my eyeballs trying to pop them out of my eye sockets. My head is pounding like there’s a fucking step show in my skull and every frat in the country showed up. I also have no idea where the fuck my phone is. I fucking hate everything.

7:30pm – The fumes from oil paint and paint thinner are slowly killing me, so I finally stop. I have swallowed nearly three gallons of water today, and I cannot stop going to the bathroom. I’ve also taken so many vitamin C tablets I’m starting to shit navel oranges.

1:00am – I want to go to bed, but I can’t breathe. Using dad’s old remedy, I boil crushed garlic cloves in water and breathe in the steam – and nearly burn my damn face off sticking it too close to the pot. After swearing loudly for 60 seconds, I try again with more caution.

4:45am – I’m jolted awake by my cellphone alarm. I am angrier than John McCain on MLK Day. For reasons that I cannot explain, my phone is in one of my moccasins near the bed. I start punching the moccasin mercilessly, but this does not silence the alarm. I pick the moccasin up by the toe and jiggle it. This is a stupid fucking idea. The phone drops out of the moccasin, hits the hardwood floor with a satisfying crunch, and sends the battery skidding across the floor. The alarm is off. I am happy.

4:46am – I put my phone back together and realize that I still can’t breathe. My throat still hurts. A lot. I jump in the shower.

5:35am – I remain in the shower, amazed that I still have hot water. I’m pretty sure I’m going to stay in the shower for the rest of my life. I am exhausted, and it hurts to move my eyeballs.

5:45am – I’m making pancakes, but I can’t smell them. Nor can I taste the excess batter. My blood is boiling.

6:30am – I unleash a loud snort to clear my nasal passages as I walk out my front door. Just then, my neighbor walks out her door and, having heard the snort, gives me this holier-than-thou stink eye. I make a mental note to urinate in her gas tank over the weekend.

6:59am – Arriving at my office building, a walk again up the stairs to my suite. At the top of the stairs, I feel like I just ran a fucking marathon. I am out of breath, and I am actually fucking goddamn sweating. At my desk, I drink half a bottle of DayQuil. It tastes like a rusty vagina. I wish I was dead.

* It’s a well known fact among my friends that I hate artificial light, so in the evenings my place is lit with dim recessed lighting and candles. I also don’t watch much television, so you’ll usually hear a Diana Krall or Miles Davis album playing softly in the background. Put these two together, and on any given night my home looks like it’s set up for me to seduce some unsuspecting woman, even though 99% of the time I’m home alone. Chicken Jon, who is the biggest homophobe on the planet, once arrived at my home in this condition – and asked me nervously: “uh….you aren’t…expecting anything….are you?” I, being a.) not homophobic at all and b.) a jerk, sank my teeth into his homophobia like a fucking pit bull and spent the rest of the night out with our friends threatening to bang him in the ass.

Figure 1: Chicken Jon, King of Drank