Who Nose?

I've got this thing in my left nostril that's driving my batty. I can't tell what it is although all afternoon I've been trying to "solve" it, by picking, preening, wetting, cutting, shaving and trimming. No avail, obviously, that's why I'm writing this blog.

Did you ever have one of these weird sensations? It usually forms at the base of the opening, right in that little pocket that goes up against the septum. It feels like a dust or pollen ball got caught up in some nose hair and it wiggles every time I exhale. This is kind of like that sensation you get when you pull the couch back from the wall for the first time in a year and the cloud of dust bunnies conspires to perform an upwards funneling tango into your allergy-prone probiscus.

This sensation could almost be like an errant nose hair getting stuck like a blown-down tree and vibrating furiously on a very sensitive part of the skin at every gust of wind. I've tried to ignore - it keeps coming back to cloud my thoughts.

I try to focus on work. I'm sure research on femto cells or electronic dispersion compensation is not exciting but it could be engaging enough to send my thoughts elsewhere - nope.

I've become an expert at plucking nose hairs but this one evades the fingers, the tweezers, the electric trimmer and the roto-Lorax thingy. I think Dr. Seuss' was as obsessed with nose hairs as much as I am today and he's got a whole book dedicated to it although it is cleverly disguised as a parable.

What I'm wondering is how many man hours per year are wasted at work in the pursuit of errant nasal follicles. How much could we as a civilization accomplished had we not been sidetracked by this highly-annoying diversion? Could we have mapped the human genome 20 years ago? Could we have built a bridge to China, solve world hunger and ended univeral suffering? Maybe we could have brought a decent slice of pizza to California - or maybe not.

Why hasn't man kind solved this perplexing vexation? Or perhaps, that's the point - we sit at our desk some days playing this game. We pretend we're working when really we are writhing in mental anguish over these itchy nasal passages. Nothing gets done, no one questions the lack of progess we're not making and we're all in this sorry mess of a world because of it. Or maybe I'm just overthinking things.