they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Sunday, January 23, 2011

a poetic tale about dander.

i'm in a never-ending battle with pet hair. the more i dust, sweep, vacuum, yell, the more hair there is. piles in the corner. on the stove. falling from the sky. dancing around the vents. on my pillow. on my coat. on my toothbrush.

it's gross. really, really gross. and it's making me sick.
i'm allergic to pet hair. and dust.
but still i press on - hiding my white flag in a secret place i hope to forget.
and i clean. and scrub. and wash my hands. then clean some more.
and then wash. my hands. again.
rinsing the dander down the drain.
because the other option is get rid of the pets.
which is neither a reality nor a possibility.
because i love them (both) too much.
so i'll rage on in the battle of sinuses versus dander and hair and dust.
never surrendering.
always sneezing.


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