The Guy is gone.

'Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government.'

-Monty Python

Norman Bethune is being repaired, you know. On the way to the Old Brewery Mission on Saturday, we walked by his pedestal on Guy street. There was a solemn ring of pure black pigeons surrounding it, still in the blowing snow. They could have been in mourning.

Bunnies.

So I fainted. Again. Down and out, five and a half feet to the floor and lines dancing before my eyes when I was rudely awakened from my deep thoughts of dancing rabbits. My dad had just given me the hepatitis A vaccine in the living room (I was standing up; brilliant thinking, you two), a little more than a week before I went away to Cuba.

'Dad, my whole arm's numb.'
'Oh, really? The whole arm?'
'Yeah, no, I can't feel it at all.'

Two steps over, eyes roll over, over and out. My brother and sister were pretty scarred.

That was Sunday three weeks ago. Apparently I passed out mainly because I was (once again) dehydrated, which was because I was sick following the ski trip. I missed Monday through Wednesday, went to school Thursday and the next Monday (french project finally done!), and then I flew away.

But on Tuesday (the Tuesday I was sick), I finally acquired a very nifty little piece of plastic permitting me to enter traffic (although under supervision for a good eight months or more). So more potential trouble.

I've just read Sophia's blog; can you tell? (Oh and by the way Sophia, let me know if and when I can add you to my list again.)

Never break the chain?