Venting spleen

If I could do it all again, I think I would choose to live alone, maybe with a goldfish. As far as I remember, goldfish don’t make too much of a mess. And they are quiet.

Living with other creatures is hard. It’s a lot of work, if you hope to live in peace.

Not that I am currently in a state of war. Just agitation and from bitter experience I know it’s way better to contain it, inside my head. When I can.

A few nights ago something happened that I never expected.

I really lost it with my cats.

They finally drove me over the edge.

And who was the major culprit? My own, very dearly beloved, beyond reproach, wicked, wicked Willow.

She has a bug up her ass about Patches, who I happen to love to bits.

I created beds and boxes and barricades. Everyone should be happy. But every night, Willow got past the barricade and let Patches have it.

I was annoyed with the others for pestering me for treats.

Finally, the other night, it was all quiet, until I put out my light. The third time I had to get back up, to stop a fight, I had had it.

I was really tired and cranky.

So I yelled at them.

Something I never do.

“I’m DONE with you cats! Just STOP IT.”

Willow went out and I SHUT THE DOOR.

IN HER FACE.

Then I went back to bed.

And didn’t even feel bad. No tears. Nothing.

The black cats hunkered down.

Lucy retreated to her perch on my chest of drawers.

Patches hid on her shelf.

And I attempted to sleep. I had let go the anger, but was surprised at the absence of tears or remorse. I would have expected to be upset at having lost my temper, mostly with Willow. Cats can pester and be annoying, but they are cats. They don’t harbor malicious thoughts or intentions (that I know of) and it’s not their fault I have such an abundance of them.

Willow is my child. (No, it’s alright, I know she isn’t really.)

They most likely didn’t know that I was shouting at them. But they didn’t like the noise, didn’t like the vibe I must have been giving off. What a horrible thing to do. Yet I wasn’t upset after. Strange.

As expected, after ten or twenty minutes, there was a scratching at the door.

I ignored it.

It came again. Followed by a faint cry.

Willow has a particularly poignant little cry.

The second time I got up and strode to the door.

“YOU CAN COME IN!”

“And behave yourself”.

She crept into her new, new box. I’ve lost count of how many there have been.

That was that. Not a peep out of anyone. And I finally fell asleep, Sometime after 3 am.

When I hurt physically, I get tired and when I get tired, things grate on my nerves. Stupid things like irritating little noises. Like flies. OMG. I cannot stand flies, just because they buzzzzzz. I do my very best not to kill them, won’t have a fly swatter around, but they better not buzz near me.

Slightly bigger things irritate me too. Coincidentally, my current PET PEEVE is my Internet Service Non-Provider. I avoid the word “hate” because it has so many nasty negative connotations and vibes around it, but I HATE my ISP.

Their latest offense is that somewhere in recent history they reduced their rates, maybe around Covid shut-down time? Who knows. In any case, for however many months I have been paying $150 a month for the equivalent of $100 of non-service. But can you challenge anyone about their impossibly horrible service? Noooo.

I have a long history with these people.

Each time I call the miserable bastards, I get the same incoherent foreigner who “cannot hear” me on his cell phone. I know they do this deliberately; you are just so happy to get through the transaction, you won’t even attempt to bring up grievances.

And their “hold” music is deplorable.

So, until the unfortunate man who works for them comes next Wednesday and hopefully (one has to live in hope) hooks me up to the more efficient plan I’ve been paying for….my internet service is LOUSY.

As I am so elderly and undependable and, so I’m told, heavy on the gas pedal, I am only allowed to drive short distances. Fine. I accept having a chauffeur. But I asked Grant recently, whether, when he drives alone, he curses to himself at every driver that has the effrontery to come within view. “No, I don’t”.

So why must he do it when I am along for the ride. I don’t like it. Not the cursing. I get so sick of the whinging! I have a feeling I complained about this recently. At least I can be depended on for some things.

All these petty annoyances. Really, isn’t it childish to get so annoyed about nothing. The way I look at it, if I vent my spleen (you should hear the names I call my ISP!) at little stuff, then maybe when something important comes along, I will be able to handle it with better grace.

7 thoughts on “Venting spleen

    1. I don’t see it as an excuse. It’s a health issue. I knew someone who got a fly born disease from eating something a fly had been on.

      Liked by 1 person

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