birds in a barrel's mission is to release creative nonfiction into the wild.

40 Days & 40 Writes is its first project.


I watch too much television.

Upon arriving home, I either kick off my shoes, or pry the left shoe off by stepping on it's heel with my right shoe, then repeat by prying off my right shoe, with my left foot. Other times, boots are unzipped, yet they all end up in the same place, somewhere near the front door.

I strip off my clothes, walk around naked or some form of half dress and head to my bedroom where I plop down upon my bed and turn on the television. Carlos, my cat, creeps out from some small, tight, dark hiding place, stretches and meows loudly, making sure I know he either needs food, attention, or wants to go out doors, usually all three.

After attending to his needs - rather quickly I must admit - I am back on my bed and turn on Law and Order or some other rerun. It isn't the show that interests me, it is the background acoustics that relaxes me.

The window is open, the curtain pulled open slightly, a fan taking up space where the window is now bare and a quite whirl and constant flow of wind ushers in fresh air to combat the stale air that's taken up residence in my room. On my bed, I sit, or lay back, yet I don't fall sleep. I am tired, yet something about the sound of distant conversation in TV-land, the constant hum of the fan and the comfort of my fluffy bed relax me and although I want to, I can't sleep. So I lay down and time passes by.

It is strange, my routine. Not in an abnormal sense, but in an sudden awareness-sense, I am clear that although this has become my routine, I don't care for it. Don't get me wrong, I need to unwind, yet this isn't how I want to unwind. Two years ago, I had an art studio, and after work, I'd run home, grab a bite to eat and head to the studio. Sometimes, upon arrival, I would just sit. I'd sit and stare and look at works in various stages of progress or just look out the window at the cars and passersby. This relaxed me and when I was ready, I'd begin to work. Even if I worked for only an hour, it was necessary and worth it.

What I do now, is a form of unwinding, yet it hasn't lead to any production of work. I've gotten into a funk and I don't like it. It stinks here. It is rotten.

The window is open, fresh air is coming in. Now, it is time to freshen-up my unwind.