You can tell a lot about people’s personalities from how they sneeze. I
tend to ‘Aaahoo’, I know a jolly sort who goes ‘Atchooee’ and an excellent
friend of mine does a wonderfully sergeant-majorly ‘Atchoom’. I shan’t share my
conclusions, save to say I would never romance a supressed sneezer; a hanky-swallowed
squeaker will never a great lover make.
Yes, I have always enjoyed my facial exclamations, ideally in volleys of four or more, but recently they have taken on new dimensions. From a few months ago I have started to move when I sneeze. It’s a well-known fact that you can’t keep your eyes open during a sneeze, and in that millisecond when my eyes are shut, I physically relocate.
It started off only being about a metre or two and I thought I was maybe imagining things, until I actually materialised in my boss’s office. Luckily her door was open; even so it took some quick thinking to explain my sudden appearance on top of her filing cabinet.
The next evolution of my sneeze has been that I now sometimes move in time. Only by five minutes at first, but in the last few weeks as much as half an hour. I have benefitted from the high pollen count. Generally I have been getting away with it, my boss thinks I am amazingly efficient, being in two places at the same time, but my untimely presence has caused confusion among colleagues, and on occasion I have had to hide from my future and past selves so as not to give myself a heart attack.
It has made my life a lot more interesting. It has, you might say, reinvigorated me, which is what any good sneeze should do. I am experimenting in controlling my time and space travel with significant success. I have procured some snuff so I can continue my investigations. I will report back with my findings.
Yes, I have always enjoyed my facial exclamations, ideally in volleys of four or more, but recently they have taken on new dimensions. From a few months ago I have started to move when I sneeze. It’s a well-known fact that you can’t keep your eyes open during a sneeze, and in that millisecond when my eyes are shut, I physically relocate.
It started off only being about a metre or two and I thought I was maybe imagining things, until I actually materialised in my boss’s office. Luckily her door was open; even so it took some quick thinking to explain my sudden appearance on top of her filing cabinet.
The next evolution of my sneeze has been that I now sometimes move in time. Only by five minutes at first, but in the last few weeks as much as half an hour. I have benefitted from the high pollen count. Generally I have been getting away with it, my boss thinks I am amazingly efficient, being in two places at the same time, but my untimely presence has caused confusion among colleagues, and on occasion I have had to hide from my future and past selves so as not to give myself a heart attack.
It has made my life a lot more interesting. It has, you might say, reinvigorated me, which is what any good sneeze should do. I am experimenting in controlling my time and space travel with significant success. I have procured some snuff so I can continue my investigations. I will report back with my findings.
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