Bird Shoes

This could have been me. Or you. 

I was hit by a bird.

I was minding my own business, walking through the city, when a pigeon side-swiped my head. It was horrifying. In that millisecond between something coming up from behind, slamming my head, and flying away, I thought something terrible was about to happen. It could have been a mugger. It could have been an old friend gently trying to get my attention. It could have been a goose.

The park where I jog near the office is a nature preserve. No dogs allowed. This means it's me and the geese. In addition to dodging poop, I'm dodging the shit bags who litter the path with their bodies. They COULD be in the little man-made lake. They COULD be in the weeds hunting whatever the fuck geese eat. Instead they stand like kids at a junior high dance, aimlessly looking at their feet and then agressively seeking out a weaker party to harrass.

I'm just here to jog, my friends. I'm not running AT you. I'm running near you.... OH FUCK MOTHER FUCKERS I'M NOT RUNNING AT YOU! QUIT HONKING AT ME! 

It's very good cross training. Muscle confusion and terror and whatnot.

But yesterday I was just minding my own business. I was on my way to H&M to buy an underpriced winter coat made from the tears of third world children. I guess I could have thought of my encounter with nature as a message about the affects of consumerism on the world around me. It could have jarred me to remember that I really do try not to buy things that support sweatshops and the undervaluation of work. Instead I decided that I needed to buy some discount priced shoes as well.

I call them my "bird-shoes" and they're wicked cute and I deserved them because a bird tried to kill me.

You know what you should never do unless you hate sleeping? Google "birds attack." It is terrifying.