I have a fever...and the only medication...is more cow bell.

I might kill a cow.

No more poor little guy. No more sympathetic Emily. Bell meet your damnation.

I was sitting on the roof the other night, wrapped in blankets with my friend Becca; it was incredible. The misty skies had died, giving birth to clusters of stars. My eyes, after having exercised all day, wanted a little rest and rejuvenation. 

Impossible. 

Although weather was warm under the blankets and the wind was sweet in melody--one sound made drunk the sweet serenity--those bloody cows and their rusty freaking bells. 

I'm going to kill them, all of them. Screw cheese. Screw milk. Screw meat. In fact, screw their bloody life! These cows are such dumb oxen. You wanna know why it's not abusive for them to have bells anymore...because they are DEAF! They probably can't even HEAR the ringing anymore. But I can. Oh yes, I can indeed. 

My friend Jason just came by. I told him that I had been writing 6 pages about how much I loathed the swiss cow. He looked concerned. He also sympathized with the cow and told me that if the farmer takes the bell off, the cows get depressed. DEPRESSED. Abusive farmers!!! Isn't that like stockholm syndrome or something? 

He also told me that maybe the reason I came here was not to seek guidance...but to realize my life calling: dairy farming.

I said he was wrong...

I do pay a lot of attention to cows....

My next book of study is Decision Making and Career Exploration.