We humans have accomplished a lot over the centuries.

Sure, we haven’t created flying cars a la the Jetsons (yet), but we have created a magical phone that allows you to video chat with somebody on the other side of the world. The same magical phone streams music, accesses the internet even during the most boring of meetings, takes pictures and videos, sends emails and fits in your pocket.

We’ve sent a man to the moon.

Floppy disks that barely held your fourth grade report on reptiles have been replaced by tiny thumb drives that store your entire life.

Doctors can transplant a piece of healthy liver from one person into another, and both pieces regenerate and grow into healthy, functioning livers.

Carbon fiber prostheses allow amputees to race competitively with their able-bodied counterparts.

And a 70-year-old woman in India even managed to squeeze a baby out of her shriveled uterus (true story).

So why, in the name of all that is sacred and holy in this world, have we failed to find a cure for the cursed common cold that is ruining my life?

And yes, in case you were wondering, I have tried the many colored, money-sucking pills that are graced with their own aisle in the grocery store. Thanks to my crappy immune system, I’ve had ample opportunity to work my way through the whole aisle. And the result is always the same: I am eight bucks poorer and I still can’t breath.

Sigh. I miss breathing.

My sick faceThis is my sick face.

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