morning bird

I've often been told I'm a good story teller. Or is "good" just my version of it? Regardless, indeed I am a Mazza, therefore I am a storyteller. I come from a long line of wonderful, animated, hilarious storyteller's. My PopPop, my Uncle Doug, my father. I have so many stories that I want to remember and I fear that this short-term mem of mine might someday switch to long-term and there go my stories.

Morning Bird
It was one of those Saturday mornings. I had stayed in the night before alone. Soaked up some tv and couch time with some wine, candles lit and catching up on my DVR'd shows. I was so excited to sleep in, wake up refreshed and get on with my Saturday morning. I was someplace between awake and opening my eyes when I pulled an old fashioned arms outstretched and big yawn to embrace the morning ahead. Upon opening I see a bird. A BIRD. Fluttering all bat-shit crazy, perching from window to window- back and forth, back and forth, over my head. I screamed, "OH MY GOD!" and throw the covers over my head. It was summer and it was hot. I didn't have the air on, but instead my windows open. Under the covers I started sweating. I flipped. I wondered, "How the HELL did this bird get in here?! How do I get myself into these situations?!" Sliding a sly hand out of the side of my bed, I grabbed my phone on my nightstand. I did what any other 27 year old woman living alone would do and...called my Dad. Who happened to be out of state in PA for work, who happened to be driving to NJ that day to visit his childhood hometown.
"Dad! There is a BIRD in my ROOM. FLYING ABOVE MY HEAD!"
"Well, what do you want me to do hun?! I am driving to New Jersey. >>laughs<< You're going to have to wait for it to fly out and open some doors."
"I just don't know what to do! What if it attacks me?"
"Well, I'm sure it's more scared then you are. Go open some doors and call me back once its out."
"Okay. >>laughs<< BYE!"
Upon hanging up the phone I realized the flapping stopped. The bat-shit craze has come to a hault.
Slowly I lift the covers down from my head. I am literally sweating with fear and summer morning heat.
Gone. He is gone. Where did he go? Creeping on tip toes I make my way for the dining room and peer around the corner, mission impossible style to the kitchen. Nothing. Nothing in the living room either. And no windows are open.
At this point I think I am losing my mind. Upon further review I notice the small push-out style window in my kitchen is indeed open, but only slightly- surely, large enough for a bird to get in. But really? To get out that fast? How did the bird find the escape window THAT FAST? And why did I open that window in the first place?
For the next several weeks, and sometimes spontaneously, I start to wander, will I ever find a dead bird carcass somewhere behind some chair or piece of furniture I haven't moved in months? Perhaps I might, which would be tragic, or perhaps the more tragic scenario is that this was all a dream or that I am losing my mind.