Along with half of the country, I took ill in early November with a particularly virulent case of despondence and malaise. For this ailment, well-tried cure-alls proved to be of little use. Sleeping—the deep, catatonic, blot-out-the-world kind—helped a little, if one could manage it. Chicken soup proved to be far less effective than pizza. Even the notorious sick-day treat of lying on the couch and watching television all day didn’t help.
We are still figuring out how best to live with this chronic illness, but in the meantime, I have discovered a temporary symptom alleviator that works for about an hour or two at a time: charming, nontragic romances. One such soother is Netflix’s Lovesick, formerly known as Scrotal Recall. Despite its previous name’s suggestion that
