Don't mess with me!

Written Wednesday:

Dear Friends,

Do you ever get in one of those “Don’t mess with me” moods? Today that’s how I felt. I think it’s a sign I’m coming back to life. Clark would applaud. He said I let people take advantage of me. (I hear you saying he should know! But please: Don’t mess with me.)

Around noon I gave a dollar to a woman playing a flute on the corner of 8th and O, near here. It was beautiful, and I said “Thank you.” 
“Don’t put that money here,” she said, pointing to her basket of dollar bills. “I can’t take your money if you say ‘Thank you.’” 
Huh??
Part of me said to myself everyone deserves respect. You’ve got to learn respect, Kathleen. She’s got her reasons. Walk a mile in her shoes.
And the other part of me put my money back in my pocket and said (silently), “Don’t mess with me!”

This morning I started drawing class at the Crocker Museum, and everyone else had perfect lines. I cannot and do not even want to draw a straight line, so when I showed my work it was all squiggly and imperfect. My eyes said to the women around the table, “Don’t mess with me.” 
“Oh, that’s very free,” said the teacher. Careful, teacher. Don’t mess with me.

And this morning I asked Zing if he likes the Treat&Train machine I bought him at the suggestion of UC-Davis vets. He jumps back at the sound it makes — I push a remote and “ZZZZ… click … whoosh!”  It releases a treat Zing hates it, and he told me so. I agree with him that it’s a stupid machine, even if it was invented by a genius veterinarian. I checked Amazon’s return policy and packed it up. So far and no farther, vets. Don’t mess with me. Don’t mess with Zing either.

It’s International Women’s Day, and I may be going overboard, but even if I am … you know … don’t mess with me!

Love (really!),
k