5:49- I return home and begin an ambitious evening. Bleach kitchen floor, dishes, extensive homemade chicken noodle soup cooking process, roughly chopping onions and carrots to boil with the carcass, feeling like a pro.
6:08- 1 glass of wine.
6:15- “I should clean the whole house tonight.”
6:19-Sweeping; crazy eyes.
6:22- Chopping raw chicken to supplement chicken soup-set to the side to marinate.
6:35- “I should update those wonderful pictures from today to the facebook.”
6:36- “I look stupid; I should stop dyeing my hair. I should dye it back to my natural color. No, I should dye it black. I should get a haircut. I should pixie my hair and then dye it pink.”
6:40-Lean-slouch in the doorway of the pantry, spacing out.
6:45- “God, I am really starting to miss my dragon. Tonight’s the night I should get back into dragons.”
7:04- Standing in front of the open refrigerator door shamelessly eating the undercooked center out of a day-old cranberry orange scone, crumbs falling from my open mouth.
7:05-“No, no! I should start! A blog! Again!”
I have a terrible secret.
The terrible secret is that I’m the kind of person who will willingly spend nearly ten dollars on fancy birdseed. The bad part about that is everything. It’s all one big slippery slope. Having birds is a problem—I can’t handle many seemingly simple tasks related to life and happiness. What makes me think I'm able to feed something as small and complicated as wild birds in any steady, regular and dependable way? What if come mid-winter I die, or quit my day job and can no longer afford the trail-mixy nut-heavy admittedly-delicious-looking standard my cardinals have come to expect? Ten dollars is a lot. Ten dollars is more than I'm willing to spend on wine. What are those little feathered flying fake-out reptiles coming to represent for me? (Dragons?) Will they be okay? Will I be okay? I don't know. I don't know, guys.
