Tweet f*%@king tweet.

I woke up late this morning. To bird song. And if you’ve ever woken up to birdsong in Australia, you know that it never fucking stops. It’s not like birdsong in America, which politely diminishes by mid-morning, and by noon is just a distant memory. No, over here, it’s a constant, euphoric shake rattle and squeak and tweet and screech, which by lunchtime is barely superseded by the grind of traffic on the arterial snarl and low-flying planes taking off for quieter climes. I love it. But just fucking shut up already and let me go back to sleep. It’s been a huge week. A never ending Sisyphean ass-haul up that hill, and now I’m there and it’s Friday and I’m in bed trying to working my way back into the manuscript and all I want to do is sleep and sleep and, you know what. Fuck you birds. You win. My eyes are dry and my back is broke and I can still hear the echo of that deceitful bolder, smashing itself into pieces, and over it all, your non-stop yammering, birds. You win.
I’m up. I’m writing. Tweet that.