May 13, 2003
There's nothing so very musical about the birds that roost near my home. They really just sound like a vast sea of bathtub squeaky toys being trampled by a herd of oxen, careful to step on every one. But it's sort of nice to be up to hear them. You know what they say about a change of pace.
I had so much trouble getting to sleep. It's always when I know I have to be up. A cruel form of rebellion that only ruins my chances of being able to look rested and serene. The exhaustion almost becomes exhilarating. As if one need only feel something with particular gravity for it to suddenly become extreme. Whatever that means.
I must not notice much, if this is what stands out.
posted by Mary Forrest at 5:58 AM | Back to Monoblog