Murderer

If only this blog could be about the song by Low. If only. I would be so happy.

This is doomed to be about how I inadvertently murdered three baby birds. Whether or not they are dead at this moment, I am not sure, but it's cold, and they are no longer safe and warm under John's air conditioner. They are mostly safe between John's windows with some cardboard. I am sad, almost sick over it, they looked to sweet and they were breathing, those pretty little baby birds.

If their mama bird doesn't come back and they die, I have every intention of carefully taking them out of the window sill and putting them in a strong enough box that there can be no ironic worm-eat-bird twist.

I am going to name them.

There's three of them.

I'll write a play about it, and a song, and I'll paint a picture of them.

My heart is aching over what I caused.

It occurred to me that I could try to care for them, but the internet says they need to be fed every 15 to 20 minutes, and I have been away for about 5 hours.

Blech, I hate it.

I just want to have enough money to buy a bike, and get my tattoo.

I turn twenty in 23 days.