I hope this letter finds you in good health. In fact, I know it will because I have been sick for the past 2 weeks due to your abundance. And let me tell you, I am not good when I’m sick.
For instance, because of your presence, my nose has decided to shutdown like the federal government without a budget agreement. Or the NFL without a collective bargaining agreement. This makes stuff I like to do, like breathing and smelling my dog’s corn-chip scented feet, so much harder. Pollen, you also put so much pressure on my head that I have a hard time functioning. Case in point:
During today’s run, without being able to breath due to a clogged nose, and without any balance due to a clogged head, the run was more like a wobbling stammer. Basically, I ran like a zombie. Spectators were taking pictures of me thinking I was starring in the second season of the Walking Dead.
Which would be cool and all, but there are a lot of people with pitchforks and torches where I run, so that was problemental.
And while I’m bitching at you, I would really appreciate not coming back from runs covered in your tree semen. I look in the mirror after a run and it appears like I was in an arbor bukkake film.
When I shower I feel like Jodie Foster in The Accused. It’s very sad.
I know you have a job to do pollenating flowers and trees and all that, but can we maybe just cut it out for a few days? I mean, even the best of porn stars need an hour or so to reload. Maybe just roll over, smoke a cigarette and spoon for a few days. Your female tree isn’t going anywhere, and my sinuses will show some love to you as well.