Something to Say

I write because I have something to say. I write because in “real life” I’m a pushover. I’m the girl that can begin a sentence but has her “friends” interrupt and talk over her. And what do I do when this happens? I just smile and nod at whatever s/he is saying—all the while inside I’m screaming: “Shut up! I was talking!” But, do I ever voice my true feelings? Do I ask them to stop their rude behavior? No, of course not. I allow people to interrupt me and talk over me on a regular basis.

I’m such a pushover that I’m the one people come to after the cute little kitten they’ve adopted has grown into a yodeling (read: in heat), curtain climbing adolescent. All it takes is a sob story about how much they’re struggling and how the animal shelter told them that if they dropped the cat off it would be put down. They don’t want the cat to die. They just don’t want the cat anymore.

I’m such a softie that time after time I’ve caved in and said, “Okay, what’s one more cat?” (it’s not just about the people; I can’t resist a sad little furry face). The kicker is that the same people will visit me a few weeks later and make snide comments about the fur on my furniture or the odór de feline (Side note: When you share your 900 sq ft home with a half dozen cats, it doesn’t matter how many litter boxes you have or how often you change out the litter—or even how many glade plug-ins you install—your home will always have a slight cat scent at the very least!)

I write because I have something to say, and because when I put the words on paper no one interrupts me. My thoughts remain uninterrupted and unsullied. I have the chance to express myself. My opinion matters. And it doesn’t matter if I’m the only one that ever reads the words… or, if the words are ever published.

I write because I have something to say.



(P. S.: Thanks for allowing me to take a few moments this morning to vent. I feel much better now! It’s therapeutic!)