I can breathe through my nose again today, which is nice. I haven't done that for a couple of days. I try not to slip into a habitual state of whininess, but I get completely preoccupied with my discomfort. It becomes a ball of misery that gets more and more tightly wound. I look for some way to loosen it up, let air in. (I would say that I need some Sudafed for my mind, but the Sudafed hasn't been working, nor has the Claritin or the Benadryl.)
I'm trying to complain less. But I see that mostly what I've been doing is stopping myself from saying out loud things I think and feel, rather than trying to change how I respond to what's happening to me. Maybe it's an improvement for the people around me, but the core of the problem is unchanged.
Another mental game I play with myself is to try to ascertain whether my discomfort is minor (and I'm making a bigger deal of it than is appropriate) or truly exceptional (in which case I would feel justified in my complaining). Am I having a severe allergic reaction to the cedar pollen, or am I being a big baby? I do this by trying to make some distinction between physical and mental, between what my body is doing and how I feel about it. A false distinction. Since I was a teenager, I've had a strange sense that my body is not mine, that I don't understand what's going on with it, or in it.