For the past week or so, I have been taking a Claritin-D every morning. For those who do not know, Clariton-D is a big fat horse pill made for allergies that contain 10 mg's of actual Clariton medicine and a whopping 240 mg of pseudoephedrine sulfate. I do not have major allergies; I do not break out in hives or have anything swell up or other such freakish biological mishaps. However, I will get a case of the sneezes, and that is annoying enough. While Claritin alone will get rid of the sneeze attacks, it does not clear up the snot. So I end up with a stuffy nose and I snore like a fairy tale dwarf.
In comes the psuedoepherdrine. The stuff does exactly what it is supposed to. My nasal passages clear right up and I can take great sweepings breaths of air through my nostrils alone, something that is a bit foreign to me. Other side effects include a rush of energy that lasts all day, wide-open concentration at work, and a strong appetite suppressant. For lunch I desire just a little bit of soup. The appetite suppressant mixed with the extra energy means weight loss, something nice for a fattie like me.
All in all this would be like a wonder pill to me, it would cure all my ails, however the last side effect is of an emotional sort. When I am not in zombie mode I end up being cranky and puckish. I avoid human contact (even more so than usual) and worse of all it gives me minor bouts of depression. It makes me feel mkopey. I am not a depressed sort, I am usually, if not cheerful, then certainly not solemn. It is unusual for me to just sit around and feel the blues. And it is not one I particularly care for. I wonder if this is how women feel all the time, moody and emotional. Egads, how do they live with themselves?
So, I am off the Claritin. I would rather have a stuffy nose then feel like a bitch.
2026 Update
Dialing back to 2007: Ed takes one horse pill and emerges as a stuffy-nose philosopher of womankind.
Ah, the Claritin-D era. Nineteen years ago, one man could snack on a horse pill every morning and turn his sinuses into a wind tunnel, all to avoid snoring like a fairy-tale dwarf. The pharmacy counter has changed since then: now you practically need a blood oath and a little laminated card just to purchase a decongestant, and even then the pill bottle looks like it was designed by a prison warden. We traded unscheduled sneezing for “wellness routines,” mood-tracker apps, and delivery soup that costs as much as a doctor’s visit. Ed’s grand conclusion—that women are simply moody and emotional all the time—has aged like milk left next to a 2007 server rack. But I still respect the purity of a man who writes “I would rather have a stuffy nose then feel like a bitch” on the public internet and means every word.
“2007 Ed, did you really think the grand lesson of your allergy-pill experiment was that women are moody and emotional—or was that just the pseudoephedrine talking, and have you since apologized to the Claritin-D bottle for slandering it?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2007 Ed: Ahh, Beelzebubba, you caught me in a low moment. Honestly? I think it was the pseudoephedrine talking, but that’s a convenient excuse. The stuff made me feel like a grumpy little cloud, and when you feel like a grumpy little cloud, you say dumb things. The women remark? That was me being a jackass, not a grand lesson. I don’t actually believe women are walking around perpetually moody; I was just astonished at how much a pill could mess with my head. And apologize to the bottle? I threw it in the trash. I don’t apologize to trash. Though maybe I should write it a goodbye letter: “Dear Claritin-D, you cleared my nose but turned my soul gray. No hard feelings.” So yes, I’m off the stuff. I’ll take a stuffy nose over feeling like a bitch any day. Take that, foul allergens.
