Don’t pet strange animals. A lesson I apparently never learned.

I tweeted the other evening that the amount of theoretical blogging I do is impressive.

It goes something like a scene out of Scrubbs where Zach Braff’s character is constantly internally monologueing. I habitually write full stories this way and then forget them. I will remember them in passing about four days later, but the details are gone.

I need more notebooks.

On an unrelated note:

A couple of weeks ago I was running down Hope Street in Providence when I stumbled upon a cat; a really adorable fat cat. He was sitting nonchalantly in the middle of the park at about 8:30pm so naturally I stopped my jog and joined him in the grass. 
Then I tried to pick him up.
In my defense we were getting along real well up until that point. I wasn’t going to steal him. It’s sad I have to say that and most of you still don’t believe me. I just merely wanted hang on to him until his rightful owners could be located and maybe keep him if he was homeless.
Anyway, regardless of my intentions he bit the shit out of my hand and then gave me a look that shamed my ancestors. 
I did email photos of the vicious little guy to Providence Animal Rescue league. 
In other news I officially conquered my fear of piercing and had a new hole put in my nose. 
The over all reception to my newest body modification has been mixed.
I believe my roommate marked it as, “very nice.” 
Three out of four siblings replied with, “Dad is going to kill you.”
And my mother said, “That’s totally disgusting. I hope you take it out and let it heal.”
I hope you’re all doing well. 

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