Eden M. Kennedy has acted impulsively in ways she now regrets.

Much in the way that Sac promises to kick your ass slowly and unpleasantly with Tai Chi Chuan, I have foregone traditional over-the-counter medicines that are guaranteed to dry up the snot tornado still whirling through the trailer park of my head, and I'm now taking an incrementally efficacious Chinese herb formula called Tong Bi. For two nights I've reluctantly shelved the Sudafed and taken a nasty handful of herbs, and what's happened? Precisely nothing. If you're going to throw in with Mother Nature you might as well suffer cruelly for your naiveté. For two nights I've read Jackson bedtime stories in that comically nasal voice where M's become B's and N's become D's. Ad thed Bisses Pribb screabed, "There's a crocodile id the bathtub!" When my inner ears started throbbing last night, I knew another twister was a-headin' down Eustachian Tube Alley. But when I laid my head down on my pillow those herbs really started kicking in! Within three hours the one-third of a nostril that I'd been breathing through had subtly, ass-kickingly dialted to three-eighths of a nostril.

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