Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Yesterday Jonah moved into his new residence at Anderson, one with kids a little more his age.  They’re really great about preparing the kids for changes by using social stories and acclimating them little by little to new environments.  Already this morning I’ve heard from both his new residence house manager and his behavioral specialist.

In part, here was some of what they reported to me:

Jonah was in his room and then came out for meds and snack which he did well with. He sat at the table and ate chips. Once he finished he paced around the dining room for a bit then went into the kitchen and tried several times to make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Staff continued to assure him that dinner was soon and he was compliant with putting the items away. Rodney then had him doing some cleaning tasks and he laughed and giggled as he sprayed the cleaning bottle on the table.

 He continued pacing about the house a bit and then eventually went into his room with the door open. After about 10 minutes I went in and he requested Adele and back scratches!!  He seemed calm and content.  When I left he was still in his room. 

That sounds good to me.  They suggested I get him an area rug for his room, but he’s all set with bedding and, thanks to my mom and dad, all the clothes, coats, and shoes he needs.  I guess he’s falling asleep in school today so maybe he didn’t sleep so well last night.  Either way, I’m happy to hear that he’s doing okay.  I’m so grateful to the peeps at Anderson – all of them, from the administrators to the teachers to the caregivers to the nursing folk.

I am much calmer than yesterday.  Sometimes things just aren’t supposed to happen; it’s hard to discern, sometimes, what to let go and what to pursue.  After making a bunch of phone calls yesterday about Jonah and hearing stories about other schools and possible scenarios, it started to feel like I need to back off and chill out.  Jonah is in a great place with wonderful people who care about him, and that’s more important to us than I can ever express.

In the grand scheme of things, we are lucky and blessed.  What you focus on expands, I always say, so now I’m choosing to focus on the best of what’s here and what’s possible.  I’m looking forward to seeing Boo’s new residence and getting him some things for his room – a soft rug or some big pillows.  I’m feeling okay.  We’re all going to make it through this, however we can.  Thanks again for your kind words and encouragement.  It means a lot!

Some better (happier) recent photos of Jonah:

img_5320

img_20161016_112823

img_20160822_103658

Deep breath.  Onward…

Some people I never see on my blog commented on that last entry, which was weird.  Then I talked to my friend K later in the day, and she told me it’s all posted over on Facebook.  I haven’t had an account there since December 31, 2015, so how is that possible?  I went over to check it out and sure enough, my page was re-activated, even though I didn’t do it.  I thought at first it was an auto-post because I’d published a new blog entry, but none of my other blog posts made it over there.

Did the ghost of FB re-open my account?  Was my account hacked?  At any rate, I logged in and DE-activated it again.

It probably looks like I went over there to throw a big bitch-fest and leave.  So be it. Whatever.  If anyone knows what might have happened, please let me know so it won’t happen again.  I don’t see myself coming back.

Thanks to everyone who commented on my last post, and for everyone who cares.   Jonah is moving to a new residence, maybe today.  They have been slowly acclimating him to the new place and I hope he does okay.  One of his favorite peeps at Anderson is the residence manager.

Fingers crossed.

JUST as I typed that, the new CSE Chairperson at the Albany City School District called me to say Kennedy Krieger is not an option because they are no longer approved by the state, even as an emergency inpatient on a short-term basis.  Then she starts rattling off a list of other schools – most of which I haven’t even heard of – to which referrals have been sent, she says, back in August.  She is going to e-mail me the details and other people I can contact, but she’s so new she has no idea why we weren’t notified of these referrals.  It was difficult to stay calm on the phone.  I’m angry that Jonah isn’t even able to be considered for KKI and we definitely don’t want him sent to another school that will be a lateral move, at best.

Can we just pay for KK ourselves?  I have no idea, or how much it would cost, and I’d better get back on the phone to find out as much as I can.

What the hell?!

For a while I was a mother, the way other mothers are.

For nine and a half years.  I remember it.

I remember watching Jonah sleep, changing his diapers, helping him get ready for school, taking him to the park and home for dinner.  There were birthday parties here with family gatherings in our finished basement.  We played in the baby pool and Andy took us sledding.   I also remember how hard it was, how fucking frightening and relentlessly backbreaking our days became toward the end – and I sit here grateful for the stillness in which to type these words, I do.

But at the same time I feel a vicious, raging kind of helpless. When I get home from visiting my son, I’m angry.  I want to scream and moan and rave.  I slam my vacuum around the house, cleaning things just to feel some control over my environment.

There are things to say but I don’t want to say them, so I stay off the blog.  I don’t have any funny or engaging stories.   And when I read over these blog entries I make myself sick with all the whining and the wretchedness.  I wish I had better news, some anecdote to share.  I only have what I have, and I can only feel how it feels.

Things were looking pretty good on October 1 – they made Jonah Student of the Month, even, and his name and photo were on display in the front of the school.  I took a picture of the display case when I visited on Open House day, but I can’t find it now.  The school sent a certificate and a letter about how well he had been doing.  It was all really encouraging and cool.

They forgot to knock on wood when they said it, though, because it’s been all downhill from there.

Our visits with Jonah are worse.  I used to complain – recently, even – when he’d come running into Andy’s apartment and then just stand in front of the refrigerator, asking for whatever he felt like eating and scarfing it down before next asking for car ride.  Now car ride is all there is, and by that I mean we pick Jonah up at his residence and he says “no apahmen” and “no lunch” – and while my mom waits behind with whatever food she’s brought us for lunch, we drive the same loop over and over.

The best we can do to facilitate some sort of visit with my mother is to stop back at the apartment after every loop and try to bribe Boo to come inside.  Not bath nor Burger King is temptation enough – and forcing him would mean a huge aggression episode the likes of which none of us are willing to cause or endure.  And so we pause in the driveway and my mother comes out.  Sometimes Jonah will put the window down and we will prompt him to wave or say “Hi, Grandma” or parrot back whatever script we want my mother to hear.  Wish she could hear.  Thank you, grandma.  Thank you for ritually packing us all fresh sandwiches, chips and drinks every week.  Thank you for picking up mama to drive an hour and a half each way to sit in an empty apartment, visiting with me through a car window for a minute or two, because you love me so much you’ll do whatever you have to just to see me, hoping I’ll be happy or will want a kiss.

On Thanksgiving, Andy drove Jonah up to my mom’s house, just like he’s done every year for the past 6 Thanksgivings since Jonah’s been at Anderson.  Always Jonah loves grandma’s house.  He jumps out of the car and runs in, bursting through the door to pace around and survey his surroundings.

But not this year.  Even after that long car ride up here, he wouldn’t get out of the car.  My father arrived just as I was getting into Andy’s car to take Jonah for a ride to see train.  We called out the window that we’d be back, and my dad went inside to wait for us.  Jonah smiled, a big smile, when two trains came by, once we got to the Voorheesville tracks – but when we drove back to the house, Jonah still refused to come inside.  No grandma.  More car ride.  Awkwardly we all stood in the driveway, my father, my mother, and me – speaking to Jonah in turns and making sure Andy had all his Thanksgiving food my mother had prepared in Tupperware containers.

Andy and Jonah drove away, and my parents and I went back inside.  My mother and father tried valiantly to keep some conversation and normalcy in the day,  but I just sat there silent and crying, the tears coming against my will, hot and unchecked.  After just a short while I apologized and told them I couldn’t do it, I had to leave.  I drove home to eat my own portion of yummy Thanksgiving food and then, exhausted and sad, crawled into bed.

My mom and I didn’t drive down to see Boo again until today.  Again, Jonah just wanted car ride – only this time he got really sad and started crying as well – huge, gasping sobs.  I turned in my seat, gave him a clean blue t-shirt rag for his face, and held his hand in mine.  He didn’t resist.  He felt along the length of my hand with both of his, grasping my fingers, crying in earnest.

img_20161204_100622204

I asked him to tell me what was wrong.  I asked him several times, in all different ways, hoping he’d offer a clue.  Was he in pain?  He never tells us when he is hurting, but he’d just had yet another laser operation a few days ago, to alleviate the pressure in his left eye.  It shouldn’t be hurting him today.  And he seemed fine when he first came out of his residence on the campus.

And so he wept, and I just held his hand.  Andy played some of his favorite music, and eventually Jonah calmed down enough to gently push my hand away and request Tom Pah-dee (Tom Petty), Public Enemy, and Prince, in that order.

After three trips and visits back to the apartment where grandma came out and said hello, I finally got out of the car, kissed Boo, and waved goodbye.  My mom and I drove home, mostly in silence, feeling how completely surreal can fill a car like heavy smoke.

What more can be taken away? Even as I ask myself the question I hear the answer. What if, one day, Jonah refuses to leave his residence for our visit?  What then?  They don’t allow visiting in the houses.  There’s a visitor’s center on campus with mock apartment set-ups that seem really nice – but Jonah’s never wanted to go there.  We tried it once and it was a disaster.  And anyway, even when he was going to the park or down to the dock, he still wanted his car ride and to get off campus first.  Can we visit him on one of the campus playgrounds?

Tomorrow I talk to the school district about the possibility of Jonah attending the Kennedy Krieger Institute for their short-term impatient program.  And I probably will call Jonah’s caseworker, too, about how home visits have been deteriorating.

Maybe they will have some ideas.  Me, I’m fresh out.  And done writing about it, for now.  If I do not post again before Christmas, I wish you all happy and blessed holidays, filled with joy and hope.

On Tuesday, Jonah was taken back to the hospital, this time not only because of severe behaviors but also because he seemed to be struggling to poop and he looked pale and acted really lethargic.  When they called me, I decided to drive down.  I left work around 11am and when I got to the hospital in Poughkeepsie, Jonah was asleep under the covers with a pillow over his head.  All I could see of him were his sneakers, still on his feet, at the bottom of the bed.  He has three teachers in his classroom of 5, and one of them was there with him.

They had taken an x-ray of Jonah’s tummy and found impacted poop, so they woke him up and we coaxed him into drinking a seltzer-like laxative.  He was all sweaty from lying in his clothing under the covers and he looked at me in amazement.  “Car ride,” he croaked, more a statement than a question.  His teacher was awesome with him, helping to keep him calm and telling me how loved Jonah was at Anderson.  “I’m not just telling you that because you’re his mother,” he assured me.  Poor Boo was bored and confused, but after another hour or so he finally pooped and they let him go back to the residence.  I drove home in a daze.  Before I reached the house my car started to shake.  I couldn’t get the hood open to look at it, so I dropped it off at the shop.  Turns out they had to break it open to get in the car.  It was some crappy icing on my shitty cake.

Yesterday his main classroom teacher e-mailed me and was so kind.  She asked what she could do to help and if I had any questions, and she said Jonah had a good morning (and included two pictures to show me).  I am appreciative.  I am grateful.  I love that Jonah has teachers, specialists, therapists, direct care providers, and other workers who watch over him with such compassion and caring.  Were it not for all of them I could not do this at all.

Got the car back last night, and this morning Anderson held a meeting about Jonah with his behavioral specialist, his psych doctor, teachers, and nurse.  They called me to join the meeting and told me he was on his way back to the hospital for another psych evaluation after 12+ severe aggression incidents this morning.  And so this is hospital visit #3 since Monday, and it’s beginning to feel an awful lot like this time last year.

This doctor is a new one, and she asked me if I thought Jonah might be bi-polar.  “I tend to think there’s a co-morbidity with something,” I answered, “whether it be mental illness or seizure activity.  Something is going on.  There is never an antecedent.  You’ve charted every possible thing from bowel movements to times he eats and sleeps, for five years straight. There is no discernible pattern. ”

Her answer, as it has been before, is to raise his level of medication (Clozaril) while adding a prn of Klonopin  (as needed).  She suggested the possibility of adding Lithium, but doesn’t want to do that right away.

I have read (and I really appreciate) all your comments and well wishes.  I will try to come back to FB and re-join the Extreme Parents group so I can gather info and exchange ideas with other parents who’ve had experience with Kennedy Krieger and severe autism with aggression.  Andy and I are working through disagreements about what to do here.  Sending Jonah to KK would be a huge thing.  Just the thought of transporting him there is a seemingly insurmountable obstacle.  We want to make sure we are doing what is best for Jonah, both in the short and the long run.

I don’t want to go through what we did last year again. But it looks like that’s what’s fucking happening and once again we find ourselves in the frustrating position of having exhausted all ideas and resources.

When I reach out to the “experts” I find and they start asking me things like “What are the specific behaviors and when do they most likely occur?” I want to bang my head against the wall – not because I do not appreciate the attempt to help us but because people never get how far beyond the beyond we are at this point – how we are breaking new ground with this child and his behavioral (and physical) health.

How we’ve already tried that.  And yes, we’ve already looked at that.  And then there is silence, because nobody can chart us a path through this kind of journey, once they realize we truly are in a territory they have neither seen nor can understand.

We have to do it ourselves, and it’s scaring me to death.

I have been going to work and coming home and going to bed.  It’s like I’m a device on low battery that you’ve got to use as little as possible to preserve its life.  I am angry and I feel helpless.  I’m shaky and sad and frustrated and pissy.  I’ve been depressed lately anyway – I usually am this time of year – and I’ve thought that Jonah’s behavioral crises at the same time last year and this year might be something seasonal.  But mostly I’m staving off panic, a deep and unwavering fear.  There is no afraid of.  There is only the being afraid and the trying not to be afraid.

A waking life of fighting the fear, and a grateful yielding to sleep.

On Friday Jonah’s new teacher e-mailed me to tell me about his week at school:

This week in class we learned more about pumpkins and and their life cycles.  We also read lots of books about Halloween and October.  We had garden a few times this week too!  I attached a few pictures that I caught of Jonah picking tomatoes.  He loved to pick them not sure he like the way they tasted though!  We are super excited for Monday for Halloween!  Our class is going to be lumber jacks!!! I’ll be sure to send more photos!

Halloween was never a happy holiday for Jonah before he came to Anderson.

From babyhood he cried if we tried to dress him in a costume, and he had neither the patience nor cognitive skills to go Trick or Treating, even with guidance. And so I learned not to be jealous of other parents and kids with their cute costumes posted to social media and their happy stories of Halloween parties and fun — the same way I learned not to be jealous on the first day of school, Christmas, and every other holiday or event shared by people all around us.

Eventually I learned to find a certain satisfaction & solace in the fact that I didn’t have to deal with whatever negatives come along with all those “normal family” things – like having to shop for a Halloween costume Jonah liked, or hoping to afford the Christmas presents he wanted, or dealing with whatever bullshit comes with the soccer mom territory.

Still, I was looking forward to seeing Boo dressed up as a lumberjack for Halloween, taking part in the activities and fun at his school.

The first year he was there (2011), they sent me a photo of him dressed as Spiderman and I actually cried from the joy/shock of it all — he had fun!  He trick or treated (in whatever capacity they manage with kids like him)!  He enjoyed a special day in a way that could never happen at home.  He was doing better there.

But this morning, a nurse called from the school to tell me that Jonah had been taken to Mid-Hudson Regional Hospital after having repeated uncontrollable violent aggressions.  They are going to keep me posted as to his status but now I am distractedly anxious and upset, and angry too.  It’s the usual anger – nothing I haven’t talked about before – the anger that springs from the limitation of what they know about autism.  Jonah’s kind of autism.  The kind where he can’t stay home and even the renowned school we sent him to can’t handle him.

The kind where his Halloween costume is literally that of a mental patient in a hospital.

The kind where, when I research “autism and extreme aggression,” the articles all suggest “consider out-of-home care” as a last possible resort.  After that there’s nothing.  We’ve taken that last possible resort.

I’m tired of this holding pattern bullshit life for my boy, where even the most extreme drug regimen they can come up with isn’t doing the job.  I want to research Kennedy Krieger again and bring their intensive program in Baltimore back to the table.

From the website:

Established in the 1980s, the Neurobehavioral Unit (NBU) is a unique, 16-bed inpatient unit dedicated to the assessment and treatment of children and young adults with developmental disabilities and intellectual disabilities who have severe behavioral problems. Throughout its history the NBU has served patients from across the country and around the world. The NBU is recognized as one of the leading programs in the nation for providing intensive behavioral treatment to individuals with severe and highly treatment-resistant behavioral disorders and developmental disabilities. We offer unique integrated and targeted applications of behavioral and pharmacological intervention using a data-based approach. 

Our patients are cared for by professionals specializing in the fields of behavioral psychology, psychiatry, pediatrics, neurology, nursing, social work, and speech and language pathology. And because a child’s progress depends on caregiver involvement and participation in the program, the family is also considered a vital member of the team.

I don’t want Jonah to be away from everything that is a routine or comfort to him, but I think at this point we need to be a lot more forward thinking.  Jonah is going on 15 years old and time is running out to manage the behaviors that preclude him from any chance of a life of inclusion and independence.

I am willing to look into taking a leave of absence from work and going down to be near him, maybe stay at a Ronald McDonald House or something.  How can we not at least research it as a possible solution when it might be the key to his future?  How can I not grasp at this straw when there are no others left in the haystack?

And so I sit and wait to hear from the hospital.  I try not to think about him strapped down or given drugs to make him too dopey to attack.  Try not to sit and cry and resent all the Happy Halloween going on around me.  Try not to hold too big a pity party when I am helpless here and everything feels so out of control.

Try not to lose it altogether.

Back in the day, Jonah adored the movie Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  That’s not exactly accurate, either, because what he really loved was one scene. You know the one, near the end where Grandpa Joe and Mr. Wonka are screaming at one another…

Mr. Wonka: You STOLE fizzy lifting drinks!  You bumped into the ceiling, which now has to be washed, and sterilized, so you get NOTHING!  You lose! Good day, sir!

Grandpa Joe: You’re a crook!  You’re a cheat, and a swindler – that’s what you are!  How could you do a thing like this?  Build up a little boy’s hopes and then smash all his dreams to pieces?!!  YOU’RE AN INHUMAN MONSTER!

Mr. Wonka: I SAID GOOD DAY!!

For whatever the reason this absolutely smashed Boo’s funny bone.  He’d giggle and laugh and sometimes almost literally shriek with joy.

More this he would ask, and I’d have to rewind back to the beginning of that scene and play it again, usually 10 or 15 times in a row.  We watched it together so often that I began to dream of sterilized ceilings, inhuman monsters, and dreams smashed to pieces.

I’m not sure when it happened (because of this blog I could look back and pinpoint it), but for a long time now his little joys and interests, like the Willie Wonka scene, have waned and all but disappeared – replaced by a devotion to car ride alone:  mama in the front.

But two weeks ago when Andy and I drove to pick him up, he first (as always) greeted us with music on? and then, after just one car ride (an unvaried and specific loop), requested go back to ‘partment?

Surprised but happy, we drove him to Andy’s place, where grandma was waiting with Jonah’s favorite foods.  Once inside, he almost immediately attacked Andy, ripping yet another shirt and biting him on the wrist, drawing blood.  Andy got him down on the floor and tried to keep him still, while I held Boo’s legs so he couldn’t back-kick Andy in the kidneys.  We are strangely quiet during all of this, even Jonah. The only sounds are Jonah kicking and hitting us or the floor.  We’re grown used to it, and we’ve come to believe that if we can just get one attack out of the way, Boo will be okay.  Sometimes even really sweet and especially happy.

Sure enough, Jonah calmed down and after that he was fine.  Better than fine.

Train on computer? he said. I was floored.  He hasn’t asked to watch trains in what feels like years.  So, as small a thing as it sounds, I was thrilled to see a spark of interest in something besides car ride.  So I set him up on YouTube, typed in railfanner, and Presto Change-o, my train-loving Boo is back, staring with rapt interest at the coming and going of the endless speeding cars.

img_20160904_110301842

And after a while, just as amazingly, he looked up at me and asked Oopma Oopma? – which is always how he requested the scene from Willie Wonka.  And so once again I happily obliged, the scene eliciting the same smiles and giggles in which we all once rejoiced.

img_20160904_110817357

The next day at school, Jonah went after a staff member in the residence who did his best to restrain him safely, but Boo ended up hitting his face on his dresser and being brought to the hospital, coming back with a few stitches in his lip and a swollen black eye.  We are grateful to the caregivers who stayed with him, keeping him calm, safe, and occupied, until he could go back to his residence.

By our next visit the swelling had gone down and Jonah was his usual happy self.  He asked for train on computer again and even handed me his Jungle Book Disney movie to play.  So I set it up for him and watched him wait patiently on the floor, where he threw down a little yoga move (they teach the kids simple poses in school but I’d never seen him do one spontaneously)

img_20160911_105826536

…and settled down to watch the movie – nearly 30 minutes of it! – before declaring all done Jungle Book.

img_20160911_110425529

No aggressions that day.  None.  Not sure when the last time that’s happened, either.

I type ad nauseam of hope, and despair, and the tiring, endless cycle of the two, but a constant thread through both is change, always change – and growth, and learning, and steps forward.

There is.  Thank God there is.  Always there is something sweet to savor, and I am evergrateful.

So my new friend – we’ll call her Emily – is on the autism spectrum and, after knowing me for a month or so, thinks I am too.

Initially I dismissed her clinical, off-the-cuff diagnosis.  Dude, I am definitely not on the spectrum.  Andy, maybe.  Not me.  But then she stated her case, and I gotta admit it’s pretty good…the idea being that Asperger peeps tend to be hyper-interested in a chosen few topics, accumulating a great heapshit of knowledge and sharing said knowledge at every available opportunity.

Hmmmm let’s see.  Me and Laura Ingalls Wilder (on February 7, 2017 it will be her 150th birthday).  Me and Elfquest (Just today I tweeted my admiration for Wendy Pini’s artwork –and, um, yeah.  Their logo is my tattoo).  Me and Guster (I’ve seen them more times than the Grateful Dead.  Which is a lot).  On and on I can inform you about any of these.  In minute detail.  Joyfully!

And that sometimes people on the spectrum have difficulty applying appropriate filters to the world – both when taking in, and spitting out, information.

My recent freak out over that nasty comment.  The necessity of a code word inside my head to silence myself:  “SUA” (Shut Up, Amy).  All the endless ways I’ve made a verbal ass out of myself, geeked out, and otherwise toe-tasted open mouth, insert foot style.

Then, too, autistics typically love routine and order, lists, details, patterns…and can become micro-focused, lost in thoughts or music or art.   It seemed the more I researched manifestations of high-functioning autism, the more I saw myself..

…and the way I know everyone’s birthday and, for years, carefully noted them all on the calendar during late December for timely card-sending the following year.   Those pattern recognition questions on IQ tests, always way easy for me.  And how the Catholic Mass was a soothing ritual from which, as a child, I damn near astral projected. 

The way I love beaded jewelry, crafting the very beads themselves from paper, compartmentalized containers separating them by size and color.  And how I alphabetize my books by author, happy to simply regard them in rows upon neatly lined-up shelves.  Delighting in dates like pi day or May 6, 1978 at thirty-four minutes past noon:  12345678.  

The way music pulls from me emotion so strong I weep.  How, as a youngster in the 70s, my dad washed the car by hand while streams of water collected at the bottom of the driveway into a single little river – and how I followed that little river’s venture down the street to the fascinating storm drain. 

Hell, the way I’m constructed this very blog post with its carefully inserted links to songs, photography, artwork, and information you don’t care about.

Of course it really doesn’t matter at this point in my life whether I am on the autism spectrum or if I’m just assigning meaning to the random.  I guess I just find it interesting that, though I’m no spring chicken,  there are still these kinds of surprises about myself – and it was an eye-opening experience to hear how Emily came to her conclusions.

Either way, beneath all my rambling is the fifth anniversary of Boo’s life at Anderson.  Five years ago today we packed up Andy’s car and drove him away from the house where I sit and type this.  The house I’ve never, ever, not even once brought him back to see, though we’ve driven on the road two streets down in order to go see train.  I just can’t hear his little voice ask for “home?” again.  And anyway I don’t want him to remember, even though he probably does, clearly enough – hell, the kid remembers babysitters he hasn’t seen in half his life, randomly asking for them by name.   For whatever the reason, this 5-year anniversary bothered me more the other day than it does right now.

In so many ways he’s a wonder, my Jonah Russ.  I’m making him a music mix, in part based on reader recommendations, and will be taking bets when it’s done as to which tracks he settles on and subsequently asks for.

Feel free to continue with song recommendations; Jonah will listen to anything at all for at least a few seconds, anyway.  Based on this information, you’d think the song would need a really catchy intro to spark his interest, but his auditory preferences defy logic in this way as in many others.

I do think Andy’s mother is on to something with her suggestion of Mockingbird by Carly Simon and James Taylor.  And I’m definitely including George Thoroughgood’s I Drink Alone, if only for the ragin’ guitar intro.  I’ve also been introduced to new (to me) songs.  For instance, I’d never even once heard Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show.  And though my love of oldies + a penchant for Family Guy introduced me long ago to Surfin’ Bird, when performed by the Ramones it’s a messier, more Jonah-esque song.

This will entertain me for the next few days or weeks – however long it takes.

I’ve got time…

%d bloggers like this: