Darwin and I have taken it in turns to be stricken by sinus afflictions provoked by... what? We don't know, and yet we suffer. Presently mine takes the form, not of the more popular runny nose, but of sinus headache which presses against my eyes and my back molars, and in the evening my face stops up completely. I can breathe clearly, however. Darwin is not always so fortunate, though he doesn't get the headache. Usually, however, he responds better to medicine than I do. Sinus medicine, even the non-drowsy stuff, makes me feel weird and druggy and heavy. I'm not on the stuff today, but I'm tired. And today Darwin is being hit hard by the drugs, and at work, which is too bad. At least I can lay down when the stuff makes me too stupid to move.
All of which is to say, don't look to us for anything substantive today. Instead, read E.B. White's essay on The Summer Catarrh, and pity those of us who snuffle and throb our way through life.
Fortnightly Book, April 30
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