STILL SNEEZING, STILL STROLLING, STILL SITTING. STILL SPITTING, STILL WRITING, STILL SWEATING, ONCE SHY, TWICE BITTEN

What a shitty, dark, cold, wet and windy, drizzly and grey late September almost October day. It's 6 pm all day long, even in the morning and moral falls as drastically and as fast as the brightness of the sun. It's the kind of day that you want no part of, like an itchy rash, a too forward and intoxicated pan handler, or a stupid, annoying cold that won't go away. I compare today with the latter. I've probably sneezed about nine hundred times in the last week, well over my usual average of thirty or so. Since the Romans, Greeks, you and me, sneezes have typically been thought of as preceding illness. I'm going on my gazillioninth gesundheit (German, meaning, "Health"). Bathousandth bud zdorov ("Be healthy Russian Children!") and eight hundredth Alhamdulillah (Arabic, "Praise God!"). No amounts of Sudafed, beer, foreign sayings for the blessing given after sneezing, or Kleenex can contain it. Sneezing ceases to be the least bit orgasmic when every other nostril inhalation initiates the pesky itch and inevitable conjuring and spewing of a string of at least three or more 'a chooos!' (I've never actually sneezed just once, which might add to the problem, you know - the headaches, sore abs, chipped teeth, loose eyeball, bloodshot eyeballs and back spasms. All the ailments that are sure to come with pinball fire fast forward face thrusts with a touch of the ancient arcade durability and lasting fun. It comes hitting hard, heavy and with speed. An unrelenting sneezing fit can actually ruin your day, your focus and your body's equilibrium. The human head can only take so many violent, spastic and without warning rapid shakes of the brain. Now that I think of it, 'a choo!' might be the most universally spoken word in the universe. As common as the dodo bird used to be before it went extinct is the word, as are the ailments of a severe sneeze strike. Coincidence? I think so, but I'm still going to write it. Back spasms, headaches and loose eyeballs. And a I've heard (or have I smelled it?) that a smell goes directly to the brain. Hmmm. Have I uncoincidenced you now? No, but I'm pretty sure that an 'a choo!' (the saying of the word) has no boundaries, sees no colours and effects all walks of life. Even Dolphins. Even Dinosaurs. Even extinct dinosaurs. Even those from Dubai. Dubains? Dubs? Even astronauts. Even dogs, mice and cats. 'Cause I've seen them. (cats that is, and I hope I'm nice to him in his dreams). If you have a functioning nose (enough hairs, olfactory epithelium, etc.) an audible voice box (not sure what an inaudible voice box does) and a sense of smell - you got yourself an 'a choo!' An Indian man 'a choos!' repeatedly when he uses too much curry in his punjabi, just as the Oriental teenager with the wacky haircut, white high tops and fluorescent pants politely 'a choos!'into my won ton while serving me Dim Sum. "Bai sui!", Chinese for, "may you live 100 years'. I'm pretty sure that an elderly black man's sneeze sounds like mine. Do accents affect an individuals' 'a choo!? Does a Torontonian's soft 'a' or a Detroiters's hard 'a' effortlessly and naturally find its way into their sneezing vocabulary? Or is it just - 'a choo'!? Is a southern 'a choo!' not an 'a choo!' at all but an "a choowl!?" The southern American English sneeze blows out smooth like smoky leather, seeping with a slow drawl, slower snot and, reminiscent of a hot day in Jawja, banjos, blues and African American Vernacular English because of their strong historical ties to the region. To me it's just 'a choo!' and it's driving me snots. I mean snuts. I mean nuts. Dang.