I was sitting at the kitchen table after dinner, which consisted of a tuna fish salad and hummus on wheat bread. It was a somewhat dark in the room because I turned off the overhead “chandelier,” as my mother call the light fixture; the apartment tends to get hot, and the eight teardrop-shaped bulbs add extra heat.

As I finished my diet Snapple, I let my mind wander, and a specific image came to my mind. There was a small bird sitting in the palm of my hand. It was more a newly hatched chick than an adult bird with the ability to fly. I think the bird was bright yellow, like an Easter Peep, but I’m not sure. The bird felt so light, almost weightless. I kept my hand perfectly still, to be gentle with her. And it was a “her.” I don’t know how I knew, but I knew.

The bird chirped. She was hungry. I didn’t want to walk all the way to the fridge to look for food. I worried about accidentally dropping her onto the floor. I was incredibly anxious about holding this bird in my palm of my hand, something I had never done before. I wanted to be very careful. I grabbed a container of Italian bread crumbs that was nearby, on the kitchen counter, and poured the grains into my hand. The bird munched and savored her meal, eating voraciously.

And then the bird died.

I don’t know why this happened. I started to cry. It was my fault. I fretted over what to do with this dead bird in my head. Should I wrap her in a paper towel? Should I bury her? And where?

I glanced at my iPhone sitting on the other end of the table, and I immediately understood the reason behind the mysterious appearance of this tiny female bird in the crevices of my brain. I had played Angry Birds earlier that day for at least an hour, and the repetitive nature of the birds smashing into glass must have made an impact on my soul. All that death and destruction!

I laughed at the ridiculousness of my own stupid irrational thoughts. From tears to laughter over imaginary birds. How powerful you are, dear Almighty Brain. You rule us all.

For that brief moment, I understood the feeling of a nervous breakdown.

Truth Quotient: 90% True!  Except for the nervous breakdown part.  That is there for melodrama.