What to do when a bird gets stuck in your house

There’s power in that wind

I’ve been spending a lot of dreamy time these days on a 15 year old breeze.  An almost forgotten name popped up on some website or another, and after a series of rabbit holes and poking around in digital cardboard boxes, I’ve come face-to-face with a previous self.


She was brave, braver than I am these days.  She also cussed a lot, probably to cover up some of the insecurities of all that bravado.


It’s raining today, for the first time in what feels like months.  It came out of nowhere on my morning run, leaving me out of breath and a dripping ponytail.  I could feel the ground beneath my feet opening up, grateful for something it hadn’t realized it needed.


rattle your keys
21 August 2008, 1:08 pm
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Sometimes I am such an asshole.

I get home and I am a mean, catty bird. I wish you weren’t here, that I could move quietly through the house, settle into its lack of response to my presence. I am tired of the world responding to my presence. I want to pull three walls close and echo my breath off them.

I know this will happen. I walk home, 45 minutes of steps, and I unravel the future before I get there. I see it from 100 feet in the air, erase the roof and look down on this mess of a being. I know it and I do it anyway.

I’m not sure why we do this; why we have to fold our angsts into new shapes and hurl them at people we love. I think I think of you as so much of myself, and so when I am tired of being myself, I am tired of being with you. It’s shitty; it’s hard not to do. I’m sorry, my love.