Ferret

Nikki, my ferret, is down in my room with me. Seriously, she thinks that my feet are animals and she keeps nibbling on them like she would another ferret.

I keep trying to call Tom to tell him that Metallica’s bassist died if he doesn't already know. They’re his favorite band. It's too bad. He was a great bassist.

I've been learning all about love lately from the book The Road Less Traveled by M Scott Peck MD and relating that to experiences I've personally had.

It's neat having Nikki down here. She likes it better too, I would think. Right now, she is tearing up those dusty models I've got in the corner of my room, rotting away while constantly reminding me of the vast amount of hobbies I had when I was a younger kid.

There are hundreds of brown leaves sunbathing and evenly polka dotting the top of the lake. They should go in soon because they look tan enough and the sun has gone in for the evening.

I'm listening to Flipside’s selection of hardcore and wondering about a story of kids. A story to write myself. I feel I should take up the rest of this journal with a story. Or maybe some of it. I'm trying to think of some experience I've had. Maybe I should write about Chicago or something. Maybe I should type it. I do know that Nikki is acting like she would enjoy locking those strong jaws and piercing my skin with those needle-like teeth that can rip apart any cat or scare the shit out of any cow. Why does she hate being petted so bad?