What part of no did they not understand?

Knock on the door last evening. Two female mormon missionaries, pushy, unwilling to be politely rebuffed. I had no trouble after two polites to hand them a rude, then a midsentence slammed door.

I wasn't mad, but I wanted them to think I was, and finally swallow the NO.

Another one.

And, as suspected, here we go again.

Safe in a home, with love and cats.

What is it about my father? He wasn't a father, only a bully. Mother full of judgement and self justification. My older brother, hectoring and neglectful, with daughters and dogs. Younger brother, a believer, full of platitudes and fluff. Me, well the rage still burns me, a fire demon seared into my neurons.

Both nieces of older brother carry the scars, multiple marriages, failed, drugs, jail.

A roof over one's head, food on the table, clothes on the back, a good foundation. But no one would live in a house with only a foundation. Add a facade, and you have a film set, not a life, not a home, not a family. It's not enough to be grateful for. Like giving someone one shoe. An empty eggshell. A bucket without a bottom.

There will be no comments posted.

Furthermore, no followers will be accepted on this site. What is wrong with you, reading this? Go find something positive. Go read my real blog if you can't find that.

The other place is where I am a decent human being.

This is where I put the greasy, dusty, dark and dangerous demons. Rarely do I post any comments offered here, from anyone, for any reason. That is not what this place is about, so I don't even know why anyone stops here.

This is where I snap and snarl, and I do bite.

Getting a lot worse, lately.

Finding a voice has been a long struggle. Being fluent and articulate, enunciating and increasing volume, helps mask but does not solve the problem. Words stick, in my mouth, in my brain, behind my brain, and I stammer and repeat myself hoping the right words push out, with another run up.

When the people around me rush to read my mind, wrongly, then attack me for what they thought I was going to say, the loop snarls further.

A working dog needs a purpose, not a lazy owner.

Watching the border collies at the sheepdog trials, thought about my brother's dog, Boo. A frustrated and under exercised, and therefore badly neglected dog, who deserved better. The commentary guy even talked about this, that they don't make good housepets, they need to run, and work.

Not like he didn't know, told a story of driving a side road in Arizona, and a flock of sheep on the road, so they let Boo out, and he herded them off the road.