I don't know how to say what I feel. If I were more capable, computerwise, I could arrange it so that when this page loaded, the song that I'm listening to now would play. I think it more adequately expresses what things are like inside of me right now than my words can. At least to me. Unfortunately, I'm not more capable, computerwise. I could probably figure it out, but the time spent doing that might render it useless. How long does a feeling like this last? So many things are wrapped around me right now, wrapped around the part of me that does the feeling. In a week, some of those things will be gone. Today, I was reading on the subway, and several stops passed without my noticing. I couldn't remember any of it happening, but it did, while I was looking the other way. I'd like this next week to go that way.

So, let's talk for a while about birds, shall we? That should help get our minds off of things. Where I live, there are essentially four types of birds that I see on a regular basis. Pigeons, of course. And seagulls, which seems strange, until I remember that, technically, I live on an island. Or, to be more technical, a moraine, but maybe that's more technical than we need to get right now. Anyway, the seagulls. They circle past my window when they're landing, and sometimes it looks like one will fly right into the glass, but, at the last moment, it swoops around to continue its circle. One morning, when they were particularly active, I sat for possibly hours, right in front of the window, watching. It was sort of head-spinningly wonderful. At times there would be only about a foot of distance between my face and a seagull's. Maybe less.

There are also sparrows. Or what I assume are sparrows. I don't really know for certain. I guess there are a lot of important things, or things that I consider to be important, that I just don't know. Maybe I'm saving the learning of them for my later years. Anyway, the fourth type of bird I see regularly is one whose name I won't even guess at. The only time I ever see it is early in the morning, and the only place is on my fire escape. Right after I wake up, on cold mornings, I usually spend a couple of minutes lying still, preparing myself to get out of bed. I'll look through the window beside my bed, at the buildings in the distance, and the flags above the bank down the street, or, lately, the Christmas trees lined up for sale below the overpass. (Although, my favorite time to look at those is late at night when no one is around. They stand out there all night in a perfectly orderly row. It's strange. Also, it's great.)

Anyway, while I'm looking at these things, sometimes a bird will land on my fire escape, one of these birds whose name I don't know. Or sometimes two, one right after the other, as though they'd been out for a flight together. I make sure to keep perfectly still, because if they notice a human girl lying so close to them, they get scared and fly away. So, I just watch them. From a distance, as they're flying up to or away from the fire escape, they look dark brown, almost black. Up close, their feathers are iridescent, like pools of oil, with surprising amounts of gold, blue, and red. Their beaks are narrow and yellow. There's something about their manner that makes me think of men wearing overcoats in midtown, standing near the entrances of office buildings, smoking cigarettes, with their shoulders hunched against the cold. This is how these birds stand, necks tucked warmly into the collars of their feathers, one imaginary hand tucked warmly into a feathery pocket. On windy mornings, their feathers can get furiously ruffled, and I worry about them. I don't want them to be too cold. I would take them inside to warm up for a while, if they would let me.

Now that some time has gone by, the song is different, but the feeling is mostly the same. I wish that I could take it off for a while. The feeling, not the song. It's like trying to take off an awkward sweater when you're little, and your arms get stuck, and you get a little panicky after your head has been covered up for too long. In a week, so much of this will be so much better...

p.s. My mailbox and I have had an uneasy relationship lately. Should I stop putting so much pressure on it? Is it too soon for me to be feeling fidgety about this? Are you reading this, even?