Chimera Song Mosaic
Saturday, May 24, 2003
My Mom’s ferret, Violet, is such a tease; she won’t let me pet her except sometimes. She flashes her fuzzy face and then hops away. So tempting! She might not like me because every time I come home, she poops next to my shoes. Definite rejection. Also, this morning she wouldn’t eat in front of me; she grabbed a ferret pellet and ran into the closet to crunch it. What a shy Violet. But when I’m in the shower, she pokes her head in, looking for soap. This prompts me to spontaneously blurt out Ferret opera, although today I couldn’t muster much more than a few strains of “More than a ferret . . . more than a ferret should be . . .”

I’m not sure why I keep writing about things like this as opposed to writing about writing. The last few nights, I have had too-much-disclosure anxiety dreams. I wonder if others have felt this way: have I said too much on my blog? What is strange is that I feel more comfortable writing about myself than about writing. Maybe I’m worried that I won’t say the right thing—or have nothing to say.

Gotta go now—my sister has printed out her notes to the Houston Natural History Museum and amended these notes: “Genomes!” and “Egypt!” I’ll be sure to have something to write about (poetry wise) after this.

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