Today, I terrorized my kitten. Max is 7 months old and knows by now “no” means, “NO!” He continues to chew on my potted cacti. Knocks them over spilling dirt and roots all over my window sill and floor. Today… twice he knocks them over even after a spray in the face with a water bottle (which my husband and I thought would be a fair training tactic but rather leaves a trail of slippery water on my concrete floor.) Sigh… I don’t think it works. Or he just doesn’t give a rats ass. That’s it.

Today, my temper returned with a vengeance, with such clarity that I’ve forgotten what that felt like. It felt good. I screamed and cursed with fire from my breath and then strangely, I was reminded of where I was a decade ago. Angry and uncontrollable. The relief I felt from that flame only left me feeling smoldered and dirty. The mirage of the flame had momentarily changed my sight and compromised my motives. It was ugly. But be rest assured the kitty is fine. No harm is done. I have squashed the flames and now sit like a pathetic pile of smoking dung typing my insecurities to you. Whoever you are.

I have to believe that there’s a reason why this little kitten should torture me so. How it can be the cutest little face in the world, then turn around and cause mayhem in my living room. It’s not fair that he must use his cuteness to his advantage. Why Max? WHY?? One thing for sure… it reminds me that I’m still a fucking mess. A work in progress. I will always be.

As I’m still trying to figure out what my blog is about, what it wants to become… I guess this is just another thing I should try. Confessional Stupidity? Pathetic Self-Remorse? I still don’t know.

How embarrassing. My neighbors were outside with guests in their balcony. My windows were open.