I managed to mow the lawn on Monday. I say Monday, but I started on Friday, and I say lawn, but really I only managed the flat bit. It looks a bit ragged, but I did it. I never thought I would be able to. My allergy to grass affects my daily life; I can't go outside when my neighbors are mowing, or have just mowed, and, on bad days, I just can't go outside. Not to sit outside and enjoy a beautiful day, but I can't walk from my front door to the car in the driveway.
Lately, since I've stopped taking pseudoephedrine twice a day, my allergies have strangely seemed a bit less severe. Maybe it's because I'm not suffering the side effects, or because I've also become more cognizant of my food allergies. Either way, I am able to go outside, so long as the neighbors or the wind aren't stirring up the grass.
Determined to be a "regular person", I decided to take on the task of lawn mowing. I purchased a reel mower, because I knew a power mower was completely out of the question. Even the UPS guy mocked my choice, everyone knows those old relics are difficult to use. I also knew I couldn't possibly use a string trimmer, so I bought grass shears. It is laborious, for me, and I can only do a small bit at a time, before immediately jumping in the shower to rinse off the grass pollen.
Just being able to do it, to cut down the grass in my yard, seems a great triumph. I am so proud and happy. Alternatively, I am horribly saddened by the feeling of success; it is a simple task that people manage to do once a week (or in the case of my across-the-street neighbor, twice a week). Woohoo! I can almost function like a person.