“That was not a bird.” I thought to myself as something flew overhead in the evening sky. Three more followed from the direction of the chimneystack of my apartment building. They were bats. SWEET! I think bats are cool. Yes, I know. It’s completely contradictory when compared to my hatred of snakes and bugs of all types. Mostly they are lumped together in an “ew” category. But I think they’re cool. (That's a picture of a small brown bat which is the kind I believe is living in my apartment building).
Bats made me think about categories, actually. Bats of a leather flock together. Or something like that. Only, what if you don’t know if you’re a bat or a bird…perhaps I’m just a flying squirrel?
Where do I fit? Really. I don’t know where I am supposed to be. I feel like I’m forever in that awkward puberty stage of being too old for the kids, but too young for the adults. I don’t know where I belong.
I think that’s why I am searching for that one man who will love me more than anyone. Because then when these awkward feelings arrive I can say that I know where I belong. I belong in his arms.
It's a lemonade type drink they sell in France. I drank a lot of it there. I guess that makes me full of Pschitt.
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