The birds in my neighborhood must be stopped. Clearly, like everyone else in the Belxey school system, they are overachievers.
Yes, I have heard the stupid colloquialism about you being early and the worm...yadda, yadda. But listen - 4:45 a.m. is too damn early to be ingesting worms. In fact, I think all of the fat, lazy, slow juicy worms are still nestled waaaay down underground at that hour because, you know, it is still the middle of the freaking night!
For the past week, there has been a very vocal bird outside my window searching for breakfast at 4:45 in the a.m. This makes me want to go all Dick Cheney on his ass. Just go out there with a large gun and start firing scatter shot until I nail his little ass. I am very cranky if I do not sleep. It is not pretty. It is not happy. In fact, it is mean and short-tempered and rightly referred to as "it" because, without sleep, I am not quite human.
Now, I am not a nature lover to begin with. I have been camping exactly once. On that trip I received bite of an undetermined nature all over both butt cheeks. Seriously, we counted. 26 on one cheek, 32 on the other. That is just nature telling me to get the hell indoors and stay there. So, I do not camp. Hiking seems like a long walk with no destination in mind, which sounds a lot to me like what dementia patients do when they escape their assisted living facilities. That, too, makes no damn sense to me. Picnics are OK, I suppose, if they are in the shade and involve copious amounts of wine. It usually helps if there is good live music to accompany said outdoor feasting.
So what to do about the birds? I lie awake silently cursing them. Actively wishing that the neighborhood tomcat would sneak up on them and have himself a tasty snack. In the end, that's all I really can do. Nature is clearly out to get me. It was clear from that camping trip. It is clear from the migraines I get when I spend too much time outdoors in the summer. And it is clear from the tiny chirping outside my window mocking me at an ungodly hour.