A LETTER TO MY DOCTOR

Dear Doctor,

I'm in that weird pre-sneeze state.  The kind when you’ve already committed to sneezing but it’s not happening.  I've been like this for two days now.  I just can't sneeze.  My eyes are blustery and my nose is tingling and crinkling up but nothing comes out.  It's ripping the life out of me.  I can't do anything.  I can't eat.  I certainly can't sleep.  My children are running amuck, naked and dirty.  I've tried everything.  I tried sniffing pepper and drinking ammonia.  In that order.  I'm starting to go plumb nuts.  I don't have time to stand still and stare at a light.  That's a tired old tale anyway.  Doesn't work.  Nothing works.  Please help me.  I need to calm down and the sneeze will come.  Right?  Is that right?  Just don't think about it?  Is that what they say?  How can I not?  Do you have any sneeze inducers?  Like in a pill?  What about inhibitors?  Oh no!  My son is dry hounding again.  He’s heaving.  He hasn't eaten in two days.  He’s back near the wall.  "It's okay James, daddy just has to sneeze.  Then we’ll eat."  Do you see what is happening?  My beard is all unkempt.  I have yet to shut the oven off from last week and the house is all filled with fumes.  My youngest son is all tippity.  He's been breathing in a lot of it.  He likes to read in the kitchen.  He keeps crying out for a brown whale named Sumpy.  I've strapped my nephew up with a helmet and a bag of coal.  I want to protect him during this terrible time.  He's not even my kid.  He's my sister’s.  When is she going to pick him up already?  All he wants to do is watch T.V. and eat wheat biscuits.  I actually don't even like him.  He's grey.  I've suspended all rules regarding the staircase until this thing passes.  You can run, hop, leap on them, whatever you want.  We've been zipping down the banister all morning.  Doc, you have to give me something.  People keep coming to the door peering into the windows.  They can't see in.  My dog is walking around perfectly on his hind legs.  He’s just flawless.  “Hey, Murray!  You get back down and walk around like the rest of them.”  I'm wearing a pair of old hefty night pants and a burlap shirt that I made out of a bag of potato rounds.  I cut holes for the arms and blasted my head through the top.  I don't know where to go.  Should I sit?  Should I run, lay down?  I don't know what to do with myself.  I called the pizza guy and asked him to leave me some fried steamed ham sheets on hold.  He's going to do it.  Please come by with your medical case and shiny mirror head piece.  Every month there is something new.  “Hey!  Stevie!  Get away from the window!  You’ll chip it!”  Someone has to give these kids a bath.  My dog is doing repeated slam backs into the wall.  He’s chipping it off.  “Murray!  Stop it!”  “Ken, get off the couch!”  “Stevie get your face off the lint ball!  You’ll smudge it!”  Pull up your socks!”  You have to do something.  This is your responsibility.  Now get over here and fix my refrigerator.

Sincerely,
Jon