There’s a bird that’s been trying to get in my house. He pecks at the window all day. What does he want? A bird flinging himself against a window ten hours a day does appear to to be trying to get inside. Go outside and look at the window from the bird’s perspective, and you’ll see your own reflection. The bird is met with a rival who answers his every parry with a thrust, who sings at the same time he does --the height of avian rudeness! Most importantly, it’s a rival who will not be vanquished, and will not go away. Nothing in his experience has prepared him for that.
One of the pleasures of turning 50 is being introduced to a hormonal regime that might have been designed by The Riddler, or the Marquis de Sade. I’m put on draconian sleep schedules that persist for a week at a time. One involves waking up at 2:57 AM, and falling back to sleep around five, for that refreshing extra half-hour before the alarm goes off. I’m a little bleary the next morning, not much good for anything.