About the time when a bird shat on me.

A bird took a shit on me today.  Two birds, I think.  Explosive shit, like they flew in from the nearby Chipotle.  It landed on my bare arm.  It hit the back of my favorite blouse - emerald green silk that complements my skin like it was crafted from samples of my DNA.  It seeped through the blouse, moisturizing my back like a mud bath on a humid New York City's day in August.  Lastly, it managed to hit three different spots of my black skirt.  Green and white and brown shit; this is what I wore all afternoon.

And I worked three hours later than I planned.

And I felt the weight of -

• all of my anxiety and anticipation, and the stress and the excitement of every detail of every minute of life I have ever lived and every change that will ever come to pass

• biology, working like a tiny dissolving pill in the champagne glass of a model meeting Bill Cosby for a nightcap, seducing my uterus into a rest it will later come to regret

• the laws of physics weighing against my body and making "bra-less" a much less viable option

• the emails I have yet to send

• the TPS reports I need to run

• the life I need to live

• the anxiety... the stress

- pushing down into my shoulders and creeping up the sides of my neck meeting in the soft curve at the base of my skull.

Wine.

Cold, dry wine.

The rowing machine and cold, dry wine.

The rowing machine.  Cold, dry wine.  A spoonful of almond butter for dinner.  My favorite sports bra and Nike tank packed away for tomorrow's workout.  A crisply made bed of cold sateen sheets waiting to be broken.

The anticipation... the excitement.

Multiple birds took a shit all over me today - while I was talking about something real.  I don't know about you, but Nina and I are (jazz scat) feeling good.