I rang in 2010 in a Theraflu haze with a box of Kleenex, sick as a dog.
The one thing that made me feel a bit better? A steaming, salutary bowl of chicken udon soup brought to my apartment in Brooklyn via a culinary courier (aka delivery man) within 30 minutes. All I had to do was shuffle to my door, hand over the cash, and then dig in. The one thing that made me feel a bit worse? Shoving the assorted takeout bags and containers accompanying my medicinal meal in the trash.