Ah, the life of the recovering doormat.

I am well aware of my faults and let’s just say that patience was never one of my virtues-not by a long shot.

The scamdemic took my irritation to new heights-and a simple trip to the grocery store can, and will, turn into a bloody war zone. Today was no different, but I held my tongue and went about my business.

If anything pushes me over the abyss, it’s rushing. I cannot and will not allow anyone to make me go faster than I am able or willing at any given moment in time.

From the minute my feet hit the ground I have pets wrangling me. My dog, my thirteen outdoor cats…it’s maddening and that’s being kind. I love them dearly, to the point of obsession-but that doesn’t stop irritation from settling in.

I used to tease my sister about the Brady bunch maid.

“Can you imagine having that dipshit around, watching your every move?”

I thought of her this morning, whilst running up the stairs at warp speed in an effort to stop the madness and claim a moment of independence.

I was making my bed and I looked out the window to find at least twenty birds-staring, mocking in pecker-headed silence.

I stare up at God, exasperated.

Good one, I mutter on the way to the shower.

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