I have a date for the first time for New Years Eve and I am sick sick sick. Not even the sick like I can pretend I'm not, but hacking up a lung, feverish, looking like death sick. Not fair.

Aimee!

I am making my mom dinner for her birthday tonight. I am suddenly kinda crabby. I think I am gonna open the wine now. And plaster a grin on my face if that doesn't work. Woman raised me and is fantabulous, no reason for her to have to put up with me crabby tonight.

CASS!

t thwaps sj's buldings owners

Have fun tonight, Cass. Lack of crabby~ma. A happy birthday to your mother.

The exact words he used were, "I don't think I can stay away".

And ABC's How to be a Millionairre on iTunes is a pretty insta-perk. Hope it stays.

{{{{{CaBil&Ms.H}}}}}}}

ETA: When you are ready, and for those who are, www.pet-loss.com/ can be a great resource while grieving for a pet. They have the Rainbow Bridge story (available in numerous translations), and hold a candle-lighting ceremony on Monday nights. (The text of the ceremony is available in case you want to do it on your own.) There are many other healing and inspirational and supportive things to read there, as well. The site has helped me greatly, when I was having a hard time, after losing my Pachisi.

sj--vitamin C. Pound it down. Grapefruit juice or OJ or something. Anti-fever meds. OTC drugs can do wonders. Also? Go to bed, like right now.

Boy? Sweeeeeeeeeeeeet.

[link] Hec, that kind of looks like my hair now.

AIMEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How are you? Tell us melt-into-puddle stories about Emma, please.

The boy just called. He reallly wants to see me tommorrow even if I am sick. The exact words he used were, "I don't think I can stay away". Feeling better now.

WOOT! sj, that is excellent! Now if only I can thwap your landlord...

{{{{{CaBil&Ms.H}}}}}}} I am so so sorry. I've said before how dearly I love my pets, but my eldest kitty Byron is by far my favorite. He just needs to live forever. I'm thinking of you both tonight.

Cass, I'm sorry you're feeling crabby.

Aims, gimme links. Mom wants to see Emma.

Hi Aimee. How's motherhood treating you?

Damn. I'm sorry, CaBil. Extreme suckage. Gadabout is sixteen or thereabouts, and frailer than he used to be. I expect one day we'll come home and find that he's curled up and gone to sleep and sometime during his nap, moved on in search of a fresh young body to inhabit. It will be like losing a relative; in fact, Joanna sees him as her bowl-fetish freak baby brother.