Birds and tidying

The birds here never stop singing. Never. I've been awake for every minute of the day at some point during this year and they just never shut up. At all. Tweety tweet tweet tweet. I knew that all the people are mad in Manchester, but the birds? It's spreading. Rapidly.

Tidying is a therapeutic activity. When things feel out of order, tidying orders them. I seem never to stop tidying these days. Because things so quickly become disarranged that they have to be sorted out again and again. My flat mate tells me that I go to extremes too readily, and that each extreme inevitably pulls me back the other way. Hence my cyclical tidying, my cyclical mind, my cyclical everything. It is amazing how quickly things change. Only this morning I was happy and thinking how I was in a really good frame of mind. I couldn't imagine being fed up. I couldn't see the logic in it. But tonight is precisely the opposite. I seem to have every reason to be fed up, even though it's not true, even though nothing's changed.