So this morning I rushed around the office "get er dun” style because I had to leave early and get Zoe to the vet. When I got home this happened:
That would be a bird in my porch. Yes, really.
Little one got in there because of this situation:
(that pile of dirt pains me.)
To think – I was just afraid another toad would get in.
Any- I did what I’d like to think anyone who had no idea what to do would do. (That was a fun sentence.) I took pictures of it. Then I called the front office.
That was an interesting conversation.
“Um….can y’all help me? There’s a bird on my porch.”
“Is it dead?”
“No”
“Is it yours?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
So I left the bird situation in more capable hands and drove to the vet. I imagined the maintenance staff cursing up and down as they tried to capture the bird with a towel or something.
Wanna know what’s sadder than a trapped bird?
A collared dog. That’s what. Poor Zoe. She’ll be alright. Her eye’s messed up but she’s still her spirited self.
So we got home and I pulled up to my apartment and saw this: 
And then I laughed and thought, “Well, that’s one way to do it.”
They just cut a big hole in the screen.
That’s “get er dun” style right there.
So. That’s my story. It got me thinking…I’ve been feeling like a trapped bird myself lately. I think we all do sometimes. We wander somewhere we shouldn’t have and before you know it?
Trapped. Stuck. Sucked In. Inextricably involved.
Here’s the deal: we’re probably not going out the way we came in, and we can’t go back in time.
Sometimes, if we want to be free to fly away, we have to cut out the shiz that’s in our way.
Also. There’s a personal matter I need to clear up. It’s been plaguing me for days. Okay..here I go.
Monica is not a rapper.
Much less anyone I listen to.
For those of you who think otherwise: Imma take you to school.
This is how it’s really done. You’re welcome.
Don’t be a hard-rock when you really are a gem.
How you gonna win, when you ain’t right within?!
Unh-Unhh Come Again!
You can mess with me, but don’t mess with my hip-hop.
