seasons don't fear the reaper

Ah, September. The month when the August windstorms are supposed to die down (but invariably don't); when dawn creeps earlier and earlier and daylight savings hasn't yet stolen my hour, so that I end up waking at five in the morning (a dawn-facing window ain't all it's cracked up to be); and when my hayfever starts to kick in and I stumble through the days wondering if perhaps someone spent the night repeatedly lobbing me in the face with a wet tennis ball.

I shall not be sad to see September leave.

Anyone have any nuclear-strength antihistamine handy?