The amount of mucus generated by my sinuses suggests to me that an alien has taken up residence in my lungs and is cultivating it so he may harvest it as fuel in some bizarre, mucus-consuming faster-than-light space vehicle.
Or, I'm sick.
Going back to bed.
Whisky, hot water, and a squeeze of lemon with some honey stirred in is my husband's cure all for sinusy things. Sometimes, he adds a spoonful of grated ginger. He also makes buckets of the chicken and ginger soup that his mother used to make back in Hong Kong.