This is a mockingbird. My mockingbird. It’s lived in the tree outside of my bedroom window for as long as I’ve lived at my current address, which I guess means in terms of the building’s hierarchy, the mockingbird out ranks my husband. 

I thought it would be funny to capture the sound of my mockingbird. And it was kind of funny to watch the spikes of track go up and down as my mockingbird put on a show, but when I went back inside and played back the recording, my mockingbird did what mockingbirds do best — mimic the sound its hearing — and then I felt kind of sad that the bird was singing to itself. (It also made my Spaniel rather upset because she couldn’t find the bird coming out of my laptop.)

So when you see bags under my eyes, they’re not there because I’m up working, or because I’m doing drugs, or reading late, or even staying up watching “Manhunter” reruns until all hours of the morning. No, its just my mockingbird trying to get laid.

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