Microstory 2141: Smol Birb Friends

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I don’t want to talk about my last weekend in jail. It was relatively uneventful. Most everyone in there has read at least a little of my blog by now, and that’s making things a little awkward, but I’m getting through it. It does feel like it’s painting a target on my back, but as I’ve been saying, this is not prison, so it was never going to be as intense and dramatic as you see it depicted on TV. It ain’t no picnic neither, but I’ll be fine. No, what I need to talk to you about today are my new smol birb friends. If you follow me on social media, you already know that I found a nest above my balcony. One of the babies fell out the other day, and died, but then two more babies fell out the next day, and I was able to scoop them up, and carefully place them back in the nest. They were pretty noisy, which the internet says is a good thing, because obviously, it means they’re still alive. It was really stressful being away for 48 hours, though, because even though I could check on the camera feed I had up there once a day, it’s not like there was anything I could do about it. Welp, that turned out to not be so true. My landlord also just so happens to be a reader, so she took it upon herself to unlock my door, and go out onto the balcony while I was away. She returned the precious chick to its rightful place in the nest. Happy ending, right? Not so fast, nothing’s actually ended yet. According to those internet people I’m always going on about, this species of borb propagates like crazy. If you want to take the nest down, which I’m required to eventually, you have to do it in between laying cycles. But that’s a very difficult time to measure.

You see, I don’t know how far along they were in their development when I noticed the nest in the first place, so I didn’t know when they were going to fledge. Once they do, I pretty much have to immediately take the nesting down, and install bird deterrents, or they’ll be right back. Why do I have to do this? Well, it’s a legal thing. I’m not allowed to foster wildlife in or around a building like this, and since house sparrows are considered a nuisance, I’m actually encouraged to just kill them. If I don’t, someone will. Of course, I never want to do that, so I knew I would have a really short window to clear them out to prevent them from coming back. The problem was, I was far too early in this venture. They stopped chirping. I even climbed up there on a chair, and started gently poking on the nest, and nothing. They never chirped at all. You would think that they would have said something, if only leave us alone, we’re babies! But nothing at all. I assumed that they were further along in their learning, and had flown off already, so I began to take the nesting down. Suddenly, two tiny borbs fell out, and landed on the balcony. I was horrified. I thought about trying to stick them back up there, but it was kind of deep in the crevice, and I didn’t know what shape it took in there, or how they moved around. Putting the chicks back was one thing, but trying to recreate everything their mama had done to build their home seemed like an impossible task. I’m sure the internet will be mad at me, but what was I supposed to think? I would not have done that if I thought that they were still in there, and alive. I still can’t figure out why they weren’t chirping anymore. But it was too late, I had to act fast, so I went back inside, and grabbed a plastic bowl. I could save them. I just had to give it time, so that’s what I’m doing. I moved the camera again to just above the bowl, so we’ll see whether mama comes back to take care of them again. I’ll update you tomorrow, probably only on social, though.

Microstory 2091: Sometimes, Stuff Just Happens

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One thing I failed to mention in my last post is that the infection that messed with my mind didn’t just make me think that I was a traveler from another world with the power to destroy cosmic portals. My entire reasoning for doing so was flawed. My co-worker went missing, and the idea that something supernatural was going on with that buried itself into my brain alongside the parasite. I started imagining other disappearances in order to justify my own obsession with it. No one else has gone missing since. Well, I mean, of course they have; people go missing every day... Or, actually, do they? Maybe this universe isn’t interesting enough for things like that to happen. No, I’m slipping again. This is my world, and it’s the only world. There are no others; I have to keep reminding myself of that. The hospital has insisted that I stay here one more night, to make sure that the chemicals that poisoned my mind are completely flushed from my system. I need to make sure I don’t say things like that, so they don’t think I’ve backslid. I’m not going to delete the sentence above, though, because I want to be honest, and show them my integrity. I made another mistake, and I’ll own that. I’ll own all of my mistakes, and I think that everyone should try to live their lives like that. My boss has admitted her own, though I’m not sure that any of it is here fault. She feels bad that I was infected at her nursery, and she may or may not be worried that I’ll sue her for negligence, or something like that. I don’t want to do that, though. I just want to get healthy, and move past this. Everyone reacts differently to the world around them, and I’m the only one who was negatively affected by the parasite. Who knows how many people go home from there with terrible allergic reactions, but never make the connection, because sometimes, stuff just happens. Still, she’s done a nice thing by paying me for the week that I missed as a result of my illness, as well as this current week, even though I won’t be attempting to go back, and in fact, will never be able to work there again. I am unmatched to the environment, and will need to find a job elsewhere. I really appreciate her doing that for me, though, so I can stand a little on my own feet until I do find something else. Obviously, I’ve put all plans for major purchases on hold, which means until later to the bike, the apartment, and my own computer. I’m still grateful to my landlord too, who has stood by me throughout all of this. She’s the one who got me the medical attention that I needed, and I’ll never be able to repay her for it. As soon as I get out of here, though, I’m going to find a new job, and start trying.

Microstory 2090: Still Delusional

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The doctor is allowing me to write one blog post, assuring my readers that I am not an alien from another universe, and everything I’ve been posting this year has been an attempt to make myself seem more interesting, and gain followers. I was born to this world, just like everyone else. Everything that I have been doing for the last few days has been the result of an illness that I experienced from the nursery. Earlier this year (when I came to town, but not when I first came to this planet, because I was born on this planet) I got sick from a virus. As I was recovering, I got a bacterial infection. More recently, due to my exposure to certain plants where I work, I contracted a parasitic infection. Of course, other people were exposed to the same thing, but I was immunocompromised, so it hit me harder. If I were still delusional, I may tell you that I believe I was indeed infected by a parasite, but that the main reason I was susceptible was because I’m originally from another Earth, where we don’t necessarily have such parasites. Now I know I’m not. I’m from here, and I’m being treated right now. I should be back to myself in no time, and no longer have the compulsion to go to random points on the map to destroy portals to other worlds. I’m sorry for anyone who has been worried about me. I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I was sick, and not in my right mind. I trust my doctors, and I know that they have my best interests at heart. Once I’m released from the hospital, my landlord says that I still absolutely have a home to go back to. Unfortunately, I will no longer be able to work at the plant nursery. It’s too dangerous for me. My weakened immune system may be a permanent issue. There is no way to know yet. My support system, though, which includes my soon-to-be-ex boss, is stronger than ever. They have all promised to help me find something better; maybe something with conditioned air. I don’t know what that could be. Since I’m not actually from another universe—where I had a life for three decades—I don’t have any work experience to speak of, so what even am I qualified for? I guess that’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, I just need to sleep, and let the medicines do their job. I’m glad to finally be getting better. Thank you all for being patient and understanding with me as I navigate this difficult time.

Microstory 2089: To Break Me Out

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I made a mistake. I left a hard copy of my map, and other pertinent information regarding the mysterious slew of missing persons, in my attic room at my landlord’s house. She found it, and called the cops on me. They say that I’m a danger to myself, and possibly to others. I was able to stop today’s disappearance by destroying the Westfall portal, but I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow if I can’t get myself the hell out of here. They’ve locked me in this all white room. It’s not padded, but we all know that they think I’m mentally unstable. Fortunately, they never found my emergency social box in my special underpocket. It’s a USB stick-sized computer with a small screen that only works through voice transcription. It takes a really long time to make sure that neither I nor the device has made any mistakes. It has two buttons. One opens up transcription, while the other accepts other commands, like punctuation, and moving the cursor. A wheel on the side scrolls through the text and menu items for file management. Forgive me if I ended up missing something. I bought this at the internet cafe a long time ago. Posting here is a secondary function of the device, but it was mostly invented for protection. If you’re mugged, and they take your regular phone, this will allow you to make a call, or send a text message without all the proverbial bells and whistles. I don’t need to send a message to anyone, though, because everyone I thought I could trust has turned against me. I just need to get my story out, and maybe one of my readers can do something about this total misunderstanding. I’m not crazy. I really am from another universe, and I really do need to stop others from accidentally being spirited away from it. Please, you have to break me out. I’ll do anything; pay anything, even if I have to do it in installments. I don’t belong in this room!

Microstory 2084: Pardon My Language

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Pine seeds. I’m allergic to pine seeds. I always had trouble eating pesto, but I never felt like that meant that I could be allergic to the stuff. I wasn’t feeling perfect after the meal I cooked, but my landlord said that she was totally okay, so I didn’t think too much of it then. It wasn’t until I had my leftovers that I started to question whether there was some issue with it. I sent her a text, and again, she reported no issues. Work was really hard to deal with today, so my boss practically ordered me to go to the doctor. They ran an allergy test on me at the clinic, and that’s what they were able to determine. I’m also allergic to eggs, which I find hard to believe. They think that I’m a bit sensitive to gluten, but—pardon my language—that’s bullshit. The only way you’re gonna stop me from eating bread is if you kill me first, so good luck with that, buddy. Nevertheless, I’m okay, and I’m going to be back at work tomorrow, regardless of how I feel. The way I see it, the only reason not to push through the pain is if you’re contagious, and I know that I’m not. I’m the only one who has to suffer here, but don’t you worry about me. I’m sure you were, right? On that note, a few people indeed seem to be reading my blog, at least in Boreverse. I think my alternate self reposts them in his own universe, but still no one reads it. Yikes. Things were like that when I was starting out here. I obviously had zero clicks, except for my own, but now I get a couple visits a day. That’s when you know you’ve made it, when two people go to your website, or one person goes there twice, or a bot does it instead.

Microstory 2073: Heck of a Lot Worse

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Woke up to a gift from my landlord this morning. No, I should say gifts. She knows that I’m starting my job at the plant nursery tomorrow, and she wanted to give me some stuff that I’ll need. I’m sure that some of this will be supplied by my employer, but it was really nice and thoughtful. She got me zip-off cargo pants, a zip-off shirt, which I had never seen before, a water reservoir to go over my shoulders, sunscreen, insect repellent, gardening gloves, a cool hat, boots, and a jacket. I’m so grateful to her for taking me in, and being so patient and understanding with me. I can’t tell her enough how much I appreciate it. I give this universe a lot of crap, but I know that it could be a heck of a lot worse. Boring is good, boring is safe. I could just as easily have ended up in a world without my immortality, and danger lurking around every corner. So this post is for you, residents of Boreverse. I’m not gonna change your name, but I’m not gonna criticize you for it anymore. Cheers, mates. I would tip my glass to you, but I don’t drink alcohol, and neither do you, which I’m really glad about. So I really shouldn’t give you a hard time. Welp, I’m off to bed much earlier tonight. I’m expected to be at work by 06:00, and I have to take the bus, which means getting up at 4:15. I don’t mind, I’ve had early jobs before, but I should have better prepared for it by starting the new schedule sooner, so my body would be used to it by now. That’s some free advice for you, kids. Social jet lag can be a real problem. Don’t let it happen to you if you can avoid it.

Microstory 2068: Tongueball It

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I’m feeling much better, thank you very much. It’s been pretty hard to get to sleep, which has sometimes been all right, because I’ve not had anywhere to go, but that hasn’t been true every single day since I got here. I’ve had an itchy and sore throat, so I cough, and then just make it even more sore. I believe that my landlord can’t hear me all the way up here, but I don’t know that for sure, and I’m afraid to ask her. I probably should ask her, though, since she would be able to explain it. My guess is that, when I lie down, fluids start moving in different directions, which is why it hurts more, but I don’t really know. She’s been off work for the last few days, and as a medical professional, in a particularly high need of a real good night’s rest every time, she should be able to expect me to work hard to put a stop to my constant disruptions. I generally don’t like to take drugs, but I’ll do it when I have to. When I was in my mid-twenties(?) I didn’t know the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon. I thought I was taking twice the recommended amount of nighttime cough syrup, but it turned out to be six times. It’s the only time I was ever intoxicated. I did not like it one bit, and I’ve never repeated the incident. Until last night, sort of. The tiny bottle of the strong stuff that my landlord had didn’t have any sort of fill cup. There wasn’t much left, so I figured I could eyeball five milliliters—or rather, tongueball it—but I was wrong. I ended up with twice the amount, but didn’t get to sleep any easier, and I never felt drunk. I probably really should have asked her about it, huh? It’s not my fault, I took too much cough syrup!