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It’s Not What You Think

It’s Not What You Think

It Snot What You Think

There are a few things I could say about this post, in addition to this post, as a meta post, but I’m embarrassed.

First: I took TWO photos for this featured image and not only did I forget I took the first one, but I emailed them BOTH to myself later and blanked out, then did it again. #menopausalmoment you say? Or is hubs trying to Gaslight me?

My name is Tracey Gee and I am a Xylometazoline Addict.

Here is my testimony — except for the lascivious parts which are contained in my (mercifully) unpublished fiction The Paper Bag Party (a Mimi Strumpfhose #Awkward Mystery).

I have terrible sinuses. I have what my family refers to as the “LaRose Nose.” I can’t breathe. Fortunately, this nasal resonance stands me in good stead when I’m in Europe and am speaking French.

Cool Fact: I can pass as Swedish in any French-speaking country.

But in short: I am a mouth-breather. Yes. I am a mouth-breather.

So I live, however wrongly, on Xylometazoline

I know I know. Big words. Don’t put anything up your nose you can’t pronounce. That being said, I can pronounce xylometazoline. Worse yet, I can spell it.

And I live in the most dreadful fear I’ll run out of the stuff. I have enough problems trying to sleep, without mouth-breathing and wheezing. It is nearly impossible for me to pitch the bottles until I’m sure they’re empty. 

Waste not, want not.

Xylometazoline, you minx you. Image from Wikipedia.

So all this is to say, I am a hoarder. That’s my real testimony.

My name is Tracey Gee and I’m a Hoarder.

Specifically, I hoard bottles of generic xlyometazoline.  I buy too many to afford the “good stuff” but frankly, when you have a drug problem like mine, you’re well-versed in chemistry so you KNOW you can use the fake stuff because you shop by ingredient, not tradename.

And do I really need a moisturiser for the inside of my nose? Really? I’ll save the 73 cents just so I can buy an extra bottle.

Let me explain the photo.


Hubby is more concerned about health than I am so he’s concerned about cross-germination (I made that term up but you get the idea)… (should I have said “contamination”?) so he started to mark my bottles vs. his one Antediluvian bottle. At first, he wrote our names on them. We’re adorable so we call each other “Mommy” and “Daddy”.

Don’t judge us.

His Daddy bottle is gone. I took it on a trip. I wore the “Mommy” mostly off mine. Note that my xylometazoline bottle sports the very shape to which I personally aspire! Tall and lithe!

I couldn’t bring myself to chuck my mostly dead bottle (nor my Mommy bottle). I stole Hubby’s new bottle because my other two were getting low and who knew how much of the good stuff I was really getting, by this point?

I was caught. He bought me a new bottle (the left-most). But I still have his green-stripe bottle (he thought the indelible Sharpie mark would make it very clear to me that this was HIS bottle … more easily identifiable by a blind old bat by me).

But he was wrong. I kept them all. I thought I hid them well by placing an opened tampon box next to them.

Tip du Jour: Want to strike the man in your life with temporary indoor-blindness? Leave an open box of tampons or sanitary napkins out.

This is a great way to hide things. Their subconscious will see the offending box, and rather than deal with the horrors of the menstrual cycle, the poor dears will go blank (into their proverbial “nothing box”).

Did someone say Nothing Box?

You can use your imagination on how to best utilize this knowledge.

But back to the story at-hand. Why am I so addicted to this stuff, not counting the obvious “rebound effect” of over-using xylometazoline?

Because if I make even the slightest sound while trying to fall asleep (a challenge at the best of times), I WON’T be able to fall asleep. Wheezing nostrils? HORRORSHOW. I can’t do it. I need perfect clarity. And I cannot sleep with my mouth open. We’ll forget, for a moment, the dreadful things which can happen whilst sleeping with one’s mouth open. I appreciate I’ve swallowed a few spiders (not to dwell on it). But, well….


My name is Tracey Gee and I’m an Insomniac

I can’t sleep for poop. I’m too anxious. I stress about the most idiotic things. I’m afraid I won’t fall asleep, or won’t stay asleep. I worry about Ebola, Amazon’s Kindle Unlimited, Vaginitis (same thing as Kindle Unlimited, really). I worry about famine. Breaking my neck. Gum disease. My weight, my height. How to get the caramel into the Caramilk bar. You name it.

Oh, and Mortality. That’s a biggie.

My name is Tracey Gee and I’m a Thanatophobe

And that’s why I need the drugs. Maaaaan. 

In short: if I had better sinuses, I wouldn’t fear death so much.

I have xylometazoline, ergo, I am alive.

Like you didn’t know.



What am I reading these days? Today is devoted to Gretchen Archer’s DOUBLE MINT!

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