Apparently, suffering sleep deprivation due to an annoying bird is something that we can all relate to.  Who knew?  The following was originally posted back in March when I thought without a doubt I was going insane and would inevitably have to move because of the incessant tweeting of a certain feathery friend in the middle of the night.  Let the record show that my white noise machine has changed my life.  I am no longer mentally incapacitated and am happy to report that I still reside in my humble abode.

The bird made it out okay too.

March 18, 2011:

I’m going on day six with no sleep.

And I’m about to lose my mind.

It started last week when I was in Oklahoma, where the winds literally come sweeping down the plains.  First, I’ve never been one to rest well when in a foreign country and two, I never EVER sleep well when I have to get up early to catch a plane.  The night is consumed by me flailing about in the covers, checking the clock, convinced that I’ve somehow missed my flight only to realize that it’s 12:57 and I have four hours of precious sleep left in the night.

When I returned home, the sleepless nights continued:

Saturday:
I’ve been experiencing a varied version of the same recurring dream since October. I won’t get into the dreary details, but let’s just say the past came back to visit me subconsciously and left yucky feelings in its wake.

Sunday:
After seeing The Adjustment Bureau, I woke up all night long thinking there was a creepy guy in a fedora staring from the end of my bed trying to amend my life and get me back on the chairman’s path.

Monday:
A beef enchilada came back to wreak havoc in the wee hours of the morning.

Tuesday
Insomnia sucks. Especially when my upstairs neighbors, whom I like to call the Fockers, decide to get busy with only a thin ceiling separating me and them. Note to self: Buy the Fockers some WD-40 for their squeaky bed.

Wednesday
Exhausted, I had high hopes that this would be the night I would sleep soundly. Deciding to forgo the Tylenol PM for a quick cocktail, I went to bed at about 11:00 p.m. At approximately 3:14, I am awakened by a weird noise. It sounds like beeping, but not really. Assuming that my smoke alarm batteries are dying, I make my sleepy way to the den to check the apparatus. I follow the irritating noise back to my bedroom, checking my phone to make sure I hadn’t accidentally changed my alarm when I meant to surf the Internet for photos reviews of Bradley Cooper’s new movie.

And that’s when I figured it out. It was a bird. Chirping. Constantly chirping. Outside of my window.

What kind of devil bird chirps at night?

I banged my fist on the window and then went back to bed. The next day, I went to Bed Bath & Beyond and purchased one of those white noise makers. More so for the Fockers…

or so I thought.

Thursday:
By the time I returned home from the Houston Rodeo (with Zac Brown still ringing in my ears) it was about 11:00 and I was dead tired. I barely took my boots off before laying my sweet head on my awesome pillow.

Several hours later, my alarm randomly goes off.

Or does it?

You’ve GOT to be kidding me if the devil bird is not back at my window chirping. Constant chirping. Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. I walk to the window and bang. Then the devil bird starts laughing at me. Truly.

Not willing to enjoy one of nature’s most talented singers in the middle of the night, I remember the sound machine purchased less than 24-hours ago. Of course, it was in my car. Forgetting to put on pants, I slide on some flip flops and head outside, shaking my fist at the tree inhabiting the devil bird. I give the neighbors a good show, return to the privacy of my own home and realize that the stupid Dream Machine needs four batteries. Pilfering the remote control, I could only scrounge up two.

Meanwhile, the chirping continues in heinous mockery.

Being in the oil and gas business, not only do I own five different hard hats, but I typically laugh at the rate those squishy ear plugs multiply in my drawers, pockets and bags. Could I find one, let alone two at 4:00 in the morning? No. Not one single ear plug. Sure I could play some music, but with my weird brain, I’d end up singing the songs all night long instead of being soothingly put to sleep. The same goes for TV. Even when I moved to the den, I still heard the chirping. I opted for turning the ceiling fan on high and shoving Q-tips in my ears.

Did you ever see that movie Failure to Launch? The one with Matthew McConaughey, my beloved Bradley (both future Hall of Famers by the way) and Carrie Bradshaw? Carrie’s roommate Zooey Deschanel’s character has an issue with a night-chirping bird the entire movie. Just like me.

Let me tell you dear reader. I can relate. Oh how I can relate.

In the end, I got up before the sun, slammed my window one last time for good measure and went to the bathroom to wash my face.

Low and behold if I didn’t hear chirping out THAT window too. Oh yes. The devil bird is now following me to different windows. This is not a coincidence. I am NOT going crazy. The idea of purchasing an official Red Ryder carbine-action two-hundred-shot range model air rifle is almost plausible at this point.

Loving most of God’s creatures, I have decided to purchase batteries for my Dream Weaver instead. And I bought that book “To Kill A Mockingbird.”

It’s good to be prepared for all scenarios.