“One day I will be free”.
Each chirp echoes a melody. A symphony of “I’ve got to be Me”.
Whether alto, staccato or a trill, it’s more than just a shrill.
A cappella of emotions set free.
It’s a fly by the night coup of pecking my way out.
Cramped. In a corner. In my cage.
To make matters worse, I’m just a tad claustrophobic.
I’m leery of hopping off the edge. Do I dare peek around the ledge?
To say that I’m trapped would be a disservice to propagandists of mistruths worldwide.
I’ve lived my entire life conversing with The Walls.
All four of them.
The daily chitter chatter has reached a crescendo. Misunderstandings and squabbles around the clock. Rehashing the same old grievances. I’ve got to break free and spring my way out.
Embroiled in a cold war of nuclear proportions.
Isolated.
Frosty stares and icicles that maim.
They’ve shut me out. Their silence pains.
So, IF you think that YOU have issues sequestered at home in Loco Lockdown, Think Again.
It’s time to compare notes.
Oy vey.
Here we go again.
Cuckoo was clearly not having the best of days.
The incessant musings and incoherent ramblings of Chirp stuck in the Box were enough to make one go insane. Day in and day out, the nonsensical gibberish was right on schedule, hourly lamentations of “woe is me”.
The conundrum is real.
There are two of us imprisoned in this scenario. One is real and the other is clearly delusional. Crackers, if truth be told.
I’m mired in the sludge of quarantine quicksand. How to conquest the Everest?
Rappelling my way out has been quite the challenge this pandemic year, and yes, I’m fully aware that my verb of choice has me propelling feet first in the opposite direction, but that is precisely my point.
It’s been a struggle.
Confined in a space smaller than a suitcase is akin to suffocating in a jar, sans light, with the lid screwed tight. To make matters worse, the instructions on how to break out are pasted on the other side of the looking glass, ineligible digits of numerics and expiration dates.
Just another roadblock to add to the list.
Deciphering the code would take the equivalent of the next hundred years. And, who has that sort of time on their hands?
Whoa, hold on a sec. Lucky me! I’m one of the zillions of disgruntled guests under lock and key serving time in The Lockdown Inn.
It’s a test.
On the scale of A to Fail, I’m borderline.
Lunatic.
Teetering on the precipice.
Again.
The roadmap out is a puzzle of paths pointing in all sorts of directions of which way not to go.
And then there’s Cuckoo, bemused and twittering about the events of the day.
Freedom of squawk. With a social media account.
For now.
They say that birds of a feather flock together.
And, so I ponder. Do I dare ask?
That. Dreaded. Question.
Are we one and the same?
It’s up for debate, but in the meantime, I’m shuttered at home with a cranky old bird that’s stark raving mad and I’ve got to break out for a gulp of fresh air.
The drama continues…
Next post: In two or three weeks, sometime the w/o March 29th or w/o April 5th. It could be a tad earlier or it could be a bit of a wait. No one knows. It all depends upon the moods of Humour and Inspiration. That is, if they’ve not hi-tailed it across the pond, elated that they’ve received the freedom of vaccine and are now taking a well-deserved holiday from the monotony of routine. To say that I’m just a wee bit envious would be an understatement. Stay tuned!!
Stay home, stay safe and catch up with your reading!!
Update (as of May 1st): Next post will be up very soon. There was a tad bit of an unforeseen delay.
Singing for my supper!
So much to see and explore!
