This morning I was lying in bed, motivating myself to get up and contribute to society. I had nowhere to be today and its days like today I find are hardest to motivate myself to do anything but lay in bed, blog, or watch reruns of Entourage on demand. Actually, that last one only applied to today, but you understand.
Just as I was about to reach the point where I give in to the guilt and decide which of the three I would do next, something hit my bedroom window. Actually, let me rephrase that. Something flew into and repeatedly hit my bedroom window. Not once. Not twice. Not even only a third time. Many, many times.
Now, after you reach the 20-time mark, you find yourself wondering, “What the **** is that?”
I leaned forward (not quite ready to get up at that point mind you) and I saw what it was. And it was perfect. I kept hearing it over and over and over and over again. Trying to go through and failing each time. After each time I heard it hit, I waited to hear it again. Waited to see if a different result would occur. Wondered if it was a good idea…if I might regret waiting to see what would happen or not. It couldn’t have been good for the bird and it probably wasn’t the best thing for my window. But still, I couldn’t help but enjoy the irony of it all. Over and over and over again…same result: nothng.
“So what Ryan, a bird kept running into your window, big deal”, right? Wrong. It wasn’t just ‘a bird’. It, my friend…was an Oriole.