To my left a bird flapped its wing. It scared me, but that’s because most sudden movements frighten me. The bird wasn’t able to move, was about to die. It had moved from scary to gross. I didn’t want to deal with it.

By the end of the block, the guilt was all consuming and I walked back to the broken winged bird hoping that I would simply have to roll over the small yellow bellied creature that I assumed was some variety of sparrow only because my biggest resource for bird types is Monty Python. After I rolled over the bird, it would miraculously re-learn its instincts and fly away to go have happy bird babies and a happy bird family. That theory was for the birds.

It was dead.

I was supposed to go on an OKCupid date four weeks ago. Because I was busy with my latest project, and still am, I wasn’t able to go on the date or find a time for rescheduling. I also became involved with a girl that I knew outside of the internet – inside the real world. I had never met the girl who I only knew was a 99% match with me according to a series of questions about my political and sexual views. I cancelled with her on time and I don’t think she was mad. I don’t think she had anything riding on our excursion to a bar at 7pm that never happened.

I wake up every morning feeling guilty because a girl I know as “tiny owl” didn’t get to experience the joy that is being across a table from me drinking beers.

Maybe guilt is a egotistical emotion – an emotion based on assuming you have some sort of affect on everyone else’s sadness. Maybe miniature birds just fill me with guilt.