It’s that magical time of year again. You know, when our picturesque town transforms into a scene straight out of a Monet painting with almond blossoms stretching as far as the eye can see. Unfortunately for me—and many of you out there—this beautiful spectacle is a yearly ambush.

Yes, friends, almond blossom season is undeniably gorgeous. It’s poetry in motion, really. Soft white and pale pink petals dance lazily through the air, blanketing our streets like gentle snowfall. Truly, nature at its finest.

But hold your applause—because my sinuses beg to differ.

I’m currently writing this through a haze of antihistamines that promise relief but instead deliver a stupor strong enough to tranquilize an elephant. Not ideal when there’s a looming book deadline (April 15th, in case my publisher is reading—and no, I’m not optimistic either). At this point, hope is running thin. And speaking of thin, apparently that also describes my spinal integrity since I threw my back out yesterday putting on pants. Pants! Really, Universe? Did that feel absolutely necessary?

Middle age and Mother Nature seem to have teamed up in some cosmic prank. One minute, you’re blissfully admiring those rolling green hills and lush blooms, and the next, you’re stumbling blindly toward the medicine cabinet, dripping like a broken faucet. I’m convinced the sneezing, coughing, and foggy-headedness is Mother Nature’s way of reminding me who’s boss. And spoiler alert: it isn’t me.

Frankly, the red-eyed, puffy-faced look isn’t one I’d recommend. It’s murder on the vanity. Not even my hairdresser can promise a cut and color potent enough to distract from this allergy-induced catastrophe, though I’ll certainly let her try.

So, to those blessed souls who stroll unaffected through almond blossom season, I have one burning question: How does it feel to be one of God’s favorites? And could you possibly toss a little pity toward us wretches serving our seasonal sentence?

To my fellow allergy sufferers, let’s hold onto the hope that April’s showers will soon wash away the pollen and misery. Until then, pass the tissues, please—and maybe check on me occasionally, just to make sure that light at the end of the tunnel isn’t actually a train barreling my way.

Kim Van Meter is a former full-time reporter for The Oakdale Leader, The Escalon Times and The Riverbank News; she continues to provide a monthly column. She can be reached at kvanmeter@oakdaleleader.com.