THERE WAS A BIRD ON MY WINDOW 11/3/10 11:28 AM

[this was saved onto my private blog, but then my computer restarted, had problems, and blogspot couldn't save it in time. major eff. i had a lot written and while i'll try to make this version better than that one, chances are it won't. sorry. i'm just fuming.]


To let air into the window, you have to twist the crank counterclockwise eleven and a half times. Righty tighty, lefty loosey.

The insect screen will proceed to swing from its left side hinges and hang securely over a three story clearance. Actually, there's this weird balcony thing that extends outward from the second story as part of the lobby and it's covered by gravel. So really, it wouldn't a a true three story fall.

In the morning, my roommate almost always wakes up before I can even stir from my sleep. When I do wake up, several hours after her leaving for class, I always feel that my legs are incredibly warm and this this is because she'd raise the blinds a foot's distance from the heater against the wall and let in a little light. So what do I do? I do a model sit-up and swing that baby open, letting in the good wholesome goodness of brisk suburban autumnal morning college air percolate throughout my room. It only takes me 2 minutes tops to walk to the bathroom down the hall and pee and come back and find my room at a comfortable 68 degrees. I guesstimate the temperature, but my point is, it's considerably cooler.

How many of you have ever seen a chickadee perched onto your insect screen?

Not many, I should gather.

While I lack photographic evidence, believe me when I say this: I saw a chickadee perched on my insect screen.

I don't know how to describe my feelings to you. When a timid soul approaches you with confidence. It was like it deemed me as kind.

Thank you, tiny bird, for all that you've affirmed.

Time for dance appreciation.