Allergic to the Essence of The End

Allergies...allergies. Where to begin? I am destined to live life as a freak. Can I not embark upon a trip to the Great North Woods - a land smitten with the glory of nature, a land that defines the nature of glory - without suffering the wrath of my own frail body? My weak constitution, a pathetic bag of flesh and blood that sniffles and sneezes every time it gets near a bit of mold and dust. For what are mold and dust, but signs of decay, and what is decay but the ultimate glory and the ultimate goal of life?

Mold forms about disintegrating organic matter, and dust is nothing less than dead skin cells shed from our body mixed with the dirt of this earth. Should I not rejoice in these reminders of the impending end? Nay, I am weak. How fitting then that my nose reject these particles of decay and death, for my mind cannot consign itself to the great journey to that undiscovered country that we all must travel to. Of course, I speak of Canada.

My body reacts with violent convulsions to the decay of this world: My nose and eyes run with the tears of disbelief and the mucus of protest. It is as if I wish to grab Fate by its fat face and let my fluids drip down its laughing throat. I wish to repay Fate for the joke it plays on us by bringing us to life and then expecting us to thrive as we encounter daily reminders of our impending end.

Oh, curse on you Fate, and may a thousand snotty tissues from a thousand people be found upon your doorstep. The steps of the door that leads to...a foyer. A foyer in the house of...eternity!