You know that feeling when you have to sneeze, and then you still have to sneeze, and then the tickle in your sinuses escalates to the point where you’re sure that you’re about to sneeze, but still nothing?  And for hours on end you’re left uncomfortably balancing on the cusp of a sneeze, but it never quite comes out?

That’s my day for the last two days, except with (probably) the flu, or some other lesser degree of cold.  I’ll get a sudden ache in my bones, and then later try to write an email and find I’ve just been staring at the monitor for fifteen minutes because of the sudden onset of fuzzy sick-head.  But nothing has seem to come of it, nothing serious enough to make me stay home from work.

After a mostly unproductive day on the job, I decided to cut out of the office early and go sleep off any pending sickness.  On my way out the door one of my coworkers said three magic words to me: “hot buttered rum.”

That sounds like a magnificent idea.  I think I’ll go make one up right now and savor it while I soak in the tub.  And I think another will sound about right when I’m ready to wrap myself up in a blanket and go to bed.  I like the idea of booze as a cure for what’s ailing me.

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