I am not a hypochondriac, but sometimes, I think like one and I wonder, is this the moment of my undoing, of my dying without knowing it?
This morning, two birds were pecking above my front door. Whenever I put up a wreath on the front door, the birds make their nests there. I got used to that for a time and when they were done, simply threw away the ruined wreath (trust me, you don’t really want to know everything that goes in to the making of a bird’s nest). But I drew the line last year when they pecked and pooped their way through the mesh of the screen door, incorporating it into the nest. No more wreaths for me.
This, then is the first post-wreath year. And what do they do? Apparently they make a nest on the slight ledge of the door frame. So I open the door, they fly away and as I step outside, a little bird detritus floats down as I am inhaling and I am left wondering – did I just breathe in my own demise? Will bird poop be what finally kills me?
Hmmm. I’m going to have to add that one to my list of stupid ways to die (yes, I actually have such a list).
Sometimes I make me laugh out loud. That’s usually the same time I’m scaring myself stupid. Just like this morning.