I hacked up mucus all morning. My sinuses kept filling up. I’d gone through two boxes of tissues and four rolls of toilet paper in a day. My nose turned black. I went to the emergency room. “You’re fine. Go on home and put some Vaseline on it,” the doctor said. “It’s black, doesn’t that mean the tissue is dead?” I said. “Don’t let your anxiety get the better of you,” he said. “You’re still taking your Lexapro, right?” “But I no longer feel this,” I said. “Oh, don’t be silly, you feel it,” he said. I hit my face with a bed pan and said look. Then I ripped off my nose and threw it at him. I looked like a ghoul. “Stop overreacting and get out of here. Don’t forget your nose,” he said. I picked up my nose and walked out. It was a beautiful day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky and I was pretty sure I was detecting the faint odor of lily of the valley. I threw my nose into the woods. A man pulled along side me and rolled down his window. “What’s that cracked walnut doing on your face?” he said. Then he sped off. He was right. A bluebird landed on my head and tried to pick a seed out of it. “Hello my friend,” I said. “Where’s the seed?” it said.