Birdsong

I woke up this morning earlier than what I had set my alarm clock (I hate when that happens). Today is July 3rd; it also happens to be a Monday; and it also happens to be a working day for me– but just for me. Turns out–and I was warned beforehand–the entire State has pretty much taken today off. But not me. I’m working.

As I was saying, I woke up before the alarm. The bright “eye of summer” snuck through the chinks between the shades and took possession of the room. Yet, that’s not what woke me. The comforter on my bed is heavy and warm–too warm–yet not having a comforter over me feels wrong. The early morning sweat on my brow, the heavy dehydrated breaths, was still not what woke me. The sound of a bird perched outside my window, chants a melodious chirp, repeatedly, and in perfect spacing of pause. The bird would stop, and start again, after a precise 4 beats. And I heard this chirp repeatedly, until I started to chirp this same tune mutely in my own head. And it kept chirping, and I kept chirping, and I couldn’t sleep. It felt like this bird was boring a hole through my skull. And I couldn’t sleep. I was losing it. You never realize how thinly-stitched your mental faculties are, until you hear a bird outside your window, nefariously gnawing through your skin.

Eventually, I hastily threw up the comforter, and bickered to myself with incoherent grunts, and followed myself into the shower… to go to work.

Nothing worse then when you can sleep more, but can’t sleep more- and it’s a Monday, and you have to work. And we “wonder” why the NRA can be so recalcitrant.