Time passes super slowly when you have a cold in the nose. Each minute you figure it's over by now. But no. The germs fatten on every thought you have, your eyes fill with tears, your throat ratchets up another sneeze. Sleep would be nice. But all you can think about is Gulliver, tied down in Lilliput. He probably had a cold when he wrote about the torment of little beings climbing all over him, poking at his sinuses.