This morning someone I know used the word congealed. It was before my first cup of coffee, so I don’t remember the context. I realized, however, that I have never used this word in an essay, let alone in conversation, so I figured maybe I’d write a blog entry that specifically utilizes the word. Meanwhile, now that I’m at a computer I have more important issues to discuss.
As I was walking to work today, a bird was hopping around the sidewalk, scavenging for breakfast and wouldn’t move out of my way. I actually had to step over the thing in order to get to work. These birds are a nuisance, but I am amazed at their fearlessness, their audacity. They eye me briefly and then go on about whatever it is they are doing—usually eating—as if to say don’t mess with Texas. And, I don’t. I keep walking, careful not to upset them.
The funny thing is that when I moved to Texas, a year ago, I remember thinking the birds were exotic, what with their sleek, dark feathers and small heads. Yet, today, less than a foot away from one of these guys, I realized the birds I see daily, en masse, are just southwestern pigeons. What baffles me even more are the fat Ohio pigeons I left behind. Those pigeons were summer animals, and I used to wonder how they mustered up the strength to fly somewhere warm when the weather began to turn. They seemed like puppets in the air, bobbing from a string, barely keeping aflight.
Pigeons, in general, seem ass-backwards to me. They’re in shape in Texas, where they have warmth and food year round; they’re lethargic in Ohio, biologically, they know damn-well they’ll have a tough journey to make at least once a year.
Since moving to Texas, I have lost almost ten pounds without trying. My first thought, after stepping on the scale and seeing 120lbs was that I had better go to the doctor and get my diagnosis. I am dying, I thought, I knew it. Then, I told Chris I was dying and he told me I was not, I was just losing weight. I considered this. After moving to Texas, I was outside more, walking, enjoying the sunshine. Moreover, I stopped drinking alcohol; OK, so I’m not dying. This explains me. What about the pigeons though?
I don’t see an opportunity to use the word congealed in this post. Maybe tomorrow.
Jen Knox 