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02/23/2004: "Nose Hymn"

I am sneezing a lot today, or feeling the prophetic itch of a sneeze to come, or suffering the tremorous aftermath of sneezes past. Every life is really a biography of a misbehaving nose. When we are young we prefer the free-range nose; if it runs, it runs. If it's blocked, a finger intervenes, and a sneeze blows as wild as any volcano. Society teaches us to bring our noses into captivity: we grab tissues, keep our noses clean, and do our best to keep our fingers out, o matter how much good they might do. A sneeze becomes a pas de deux of hand and nose. The virtuoso hand emerges with the hankerchief just in time to corral the breakaway sneeze. I guess we don't sneeze in our sleep; I wonder why. It takes strength to sneeze, but I've never heard of anyone being too weak to offer one, however half-hearted. Any sneeze might be the last, I guess; they're as individual and as alike as potatoes. However much you might need to sneeze, you get no real joy out of it and no relief when it's over. But this entry is over, and that's a relief.