February 27, 1999.

I'm growing to loathe the end of the month. Not so much for the bill-paying (I have few bills), but for the new metropass it requires. $86 down the proverbial tubes. You pay dearly for the power-trip of universal 24-hour access to the city, I guess.

Very sleepy today. I haven't been getting many of the old z's lately, not since Agamemnon's going away party (although my Damon Runyon obsession seems to be resurfacing, as you'll guess from the idiom of that sentence). I wouldn't say it's making me that irritable, but it's certainly not helping me get all my research done for the upcoming Greek Drama paper. I just feel so lackluster, so blech. I wonder if I have narcolepsy or mono or low iron?

Wait a minute...

In honour of Javina's immanent departure from the city, we all slept in late & went ice skating at Nathan Philips Square. It was really cool...I haven't been on skates since I was 17, and it hurt a lot until I broke the barrier. It was as dramatic as that: one minute I was resting after every couple of laps to ease my aching feet, and the next time I had done about 10 laps before I realized that I didn't need or want to stop. We left after an hour, as Javina had taken a bad fall on her wrist and stopped skating just before the Boy and I got on the ice...and she was very patient with us while we worked through enough time to get our money's worth from the rented skates. I really want to do this again soon...there's something so wholesome and Canadian about lurching around a rink around the elegant little kids and obnoxious couples holding hands (she says nonchalantly, having joined their ranks for an hour).

Errata: in our last issue, remarks were made accusing Paris of excising the author from his thoughts and emotions. Upon gentle chastisement from the party accused, we would like to withdraw said comments. The author was tired and cranky, which in no way reflects upon the true character of Paris as everyone's favourite Costa Rican-Canadian poet.