Blog therapy

If it weren't for this blog I'd be dreadfully poor, homeless and I wouldn't have anything to call my own. It would all go to couch therapy. But I'm a clever (little?) girl, just as my dad used to say, so I've found the anti venom to mum-venom. And it doesn't cost me €100 per hour, it costs me a cigarette, a diet coke, and an Internet connection. A blog is also good for anger management, on the days when you really want to squeeze someone's neck and get turned on by the pleasure of seeing him struggle to live. Blogging is so much safer. It doesn't make you less of a criminal, because the thoughts are there anyway, but nobody gets arrested for thinking. I'm still thinking about the queer title just imposed on me. And although I know that I'm a messed-up kid in many ways, I still don't think it's fair. When I was 7 and going to Catholic lessons, I used to hear all about sinning, and that a sin qualifies as a sin owing to the intention. That meant that Jan Val Jean never deserved his prison sentence for stealing a loaf to feed his family who would otherwise have gone hungry. He stole for a valid reason and for not having any other opportunity. It, in turn, also means that I do nothing wrong by loving cats and dogs. According to the Bible expert in my immediate community; my mother (shit it's always her getting under my skin), I have sinned because I haven't got married and gone forth and multiplied. Instead I have turned to animals (no hint at bestiality whatsoever please). And whenever she hints at that, it hurts. I guess plenty of us would have liked to gone forth and multiplied, but it doesn't happen for some. And instead of getting bitter, we go by the law of sublimation and turn our attention to something else. My guess is that my mother did nothing special in the sack. It just turned out special by getting a two for the price of one bonanza. Trust her to hit gold and get me into the world. If only I could draw, I'd draw special diagrams just for her to see to tell her what I've been doing in the sack. She'd be shell-shocked, and maybe she would just be playing the part of repression and suppression. Anyway here's three cheers to this blog. I've got it off my chest for next to nothing. And no sinning.

Queer?

So I actually decided to make an effort because it's Easter and it should be a happy time. I needn't have bothered. Why the fuck I still bother to make an effort when I know that whatever I say or do is going to be met either by anger or by mocking... by my mum of course. She said something about her neighbour's daughter who is my age. Apparently this daughter has a cat, a very beautiful cat my my mum''s standards. cat who could make it to the circus, because according to my mum she's got a very clever cat who can do tricks. So I, like any other doting mummy, got so enthusiastic and told her that Ding could do this, Dong did that, Tancred did something else, Bagheera was lonely because all the others do not like him, and I also told her that my little cat Mimi` was just like her. She really is just like my mum, she moans a lot until she gets what she wants. And I guess it wasn't a very good idea because I saw her mouth going into a sarcastic silent tantrum. And she asked me if I really was calling cats by their names. Well of course I do. And she called me queer. And I know just the type of queer she was aiming at. Not the sexually queer of course, she would beat me at that. But the text-book kind of queer old lady who, having never known men, turns to cats, giving them lavish attention and making them her world. And I cannot find anything wrong with sweet old ladies like that, they care for cats doing a good job and harming nobody. But I know my mum, she just couldn't resist a kick in my butt, even if it is on Easter Day. And the kick bounced off her. My butt can be hard to kick at you see. I told her that I couldn't be queer in that sort of way, since according to her I am a big pastaza and have slept with one million men. I haven't of course, but that is what she thinks. So disgusted I was with her reaction I decided it was time for shock tactics, so I explained how exciting it is to be at it and being watched by all six of my cats. That isn't true either but it did the trick. She was desperately wanting something to be appalled at, and I gave it to her. Happy Easter Mum. And yes, I'll keep calling my cats by their name.