You'd think, after living in a small 800 square foot apartment for about 6 1/2 years, that Peanut would know the place like the back of his foot. But as it turns out, the bedroom is Evil.

Bruce got a new media server, which - obviously - we had to play with for most of the afternoon. First in the living room, then in the bedroom, currently in the living room again. (Seventeen computers, four TV sets - two of those in the bedroom - but that's a different story). During part of the bedroom test, I brought Peanut in; he was sitting on my shoulder. After a minute or two, and for no apparent reason, he took off, flew a loop around the room, crashed into the mirror, and landed on the dresser. Bruce rescued him and he flew onto my head, which, under normal circumstances, is the safest place in the world. But after a few more minutes, and for no apparent reason, Peanut took off again: a loop around the bedroom, and then into the office to land on the swing arm lamp.

Obviously, the bedroom is Evil.

Which might explain why Bruce and especially I don't sleep all that well. The place is filled with nasty, Evil, invisible and probably right-wing creatures that hum pop tunes from the 80s and have the desiccated flesh of baby seals stuck in their teeth. Who could sleep with that?

The bedroom is the room Peanut's been in least often. Which, for a tiny prey animal, would be enough to make him nervous. Makes it tough to change shoes, though, when he's with me.