I think it always happens when the humidity is about to break or it is about to make a return. It never fails. 2 a.m. hits and I wake up with my ears, nose, forehead, and eyes pounding. The pressure is too intense.
So, I do the saline wash, take a shower, pop a couple of Advil, and wait for it to thin out so I can at least fall back to sleep.
Last night was weird though, because I got one nostril cleared and was like, "Phew," but almost instantly the other nostril clogged up and then became a runny nose. I couldn't win, and I didn't fall back to sleep. Hence, drowsiness and an inability to think.
I just don't get the pressure and how it can be so aggravating. Evolutionarily there has to be a purpose for such bodily adaptation. Perhaps it's a way to say, "Humans, move from here. This isn't a good space for your breathing."
The only saving grace is that I know that it is not the Ohio Valley of Louisville where such a season is almost 300 days of the 365 possibilities. I hated the headaches of Kentucky. Here, they only come once or twice a year.
I think this is my third, however, and it's simply annoying (and painful).
Okay, it's Friday so I'll quit my whining. But I wish there was a hose I could stick up there to clean everything out. It hurts. And I hate it.
So, I do the saline wash, take a shower, pop a couple of Advil, and wait for it to thin out so I can at least fall back to sleep.
Last night was weird though, because I got one nostril cleared and was like, "Phew," but almost instantly the other nostril clogged up and then became a runny nose. I couldn't win, and I didn't fall back to sleep. Hence, drowsiness and an inability to think.
I just don't get the pressure and how it can be so aggravating. Evolutionarily there has to be a purpose for such bodily adaptation. Perhaps it's a way to say, "Humans, move from here. This isn't a good space for your breathing."
The only saving grace is that I know that it is not the Ohio Valley of Louisville where such a season is almost 300 days of the 365 possibilities. I hated the headaches of Kentucky. Here, they only come once or twice a year.
I think this is my third, however, and it's simply annoying (and painful).
Okay, it's Friday so I'll quit my whining. But I wish there was a hose I could stick up there to clean everything out. It hurts. And I hate it.
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