december 31, 2000. I am so pathetically sick that I think I'm going to spend the first holiday of the new millennium on the couch with my trusty box of kleenex. We were going to go to Halifax to find a likely-looking club & discover some cheer, but all of that's off since I started spewing snot like a particularly disgusting version of the goose that laid the golden egg. I'm all dizzy & pathetic & I think drinking would be a serious mistake. Honestly. I can't friggin' believe this: it's as if all my allergies have come back, along with the wheeze in my lungs. I started doing my asthma puffers again yesterday, but the Claritin that controlled my sneezing in November is doing dick all - except making me damn drowsy, that is. "sucks to your asmar." I thought I had this licked, damn it! They're going to start calling me Amoret the Perpetually Ill in the department of ed. At least I have plenty to read during my mopey convalescence. In that spirit, I give you a link from Salon that I swiped off xeney: a literary essay on how Aslan kicks the Cowardly Lion's arse square. It's extremely well-written, and convincing to the point that I had a vague urge to begin serious scholarship of C.S. Lewis. Happy New Year.