I have mentioned it before, and I will mention it again: spring fucking sucks monkey nards. I do not respond to it well. Here are some reasons, some springing from the seasonal psychosis itself, that makes this time of year so unwelcome in my life. Why, because:
But there are good things about life in spring, things that carry me forward from moment to moment as I wait for the sun:
See? I had one more good thing to say than I had bad things, so I will live to see another day. Maybe Another Day will be all yellow and sunny and NOT SPRING, but there are no guarantees. Lately, Another Day is all hey, hey, it's Spring here, don't you know. Would you like any razors with your tea? I’ll get through it.
I think the Fiery One's recent spate of vivid dreaming is catching, because I had a creepy dream night before last. Hitchcock creepy. In the dream, the world was going to shit environmentally. The atmosphere was going awry in such a way that humans were not terribly affected yet, but the birds were. People had to spend as much time indoors as possible to avoid adverse effects, but the birds, of course, had no such luxury. As living had become harder and harder for them, the birds had learned to communicate some of their wants to people, like begging for food or hopping around the dog's water bowl in the yard to get you to put more water in it. The atmosphere felt heavy, like the pressure before heavy thunderstorms, and although the birds weren't yet dying in numbers, you could tell they were nervous and had been for days, hopping restlessly along branches, several kinds of birds resting in one tree, and gathering in groups on the ground. The Fiery One and I were in our apartment, and as night fell more and more birds were landing on the ledge outside our window. Eventually, our windowsill was filled with birds of all sizes, clamouring against the windowpanes to be let in. They squawked and hammered and thrashed their wings to keep their footing in place. It was terrifying. They were fighting for their lives to be let in. The Fiery One and I held ourselves away from the windows out of animal fear. We felt so terrible for the poor things. They would all be dead by morning if we didn't let them in, and yet we knew that letting them in offered no real solution. And so all we could do was listen to their panic, watch their frightened eyes, and wait for the dead quiet of morning.