HiveComb

      Squirrels are well known for destroying things. We excel at ripping and chewing our way through any obstacle that gets in our way. These talents don’t do much for our popularity. (Though, one bright side is that our prowess with wrecking whatever we damn well feel like has been great advertising for my Uncle’s Merle’s Squirrel Demolition business.)

      Now, what happens when a furry mass with an aptitude for destruction gets hurt? Does it cry? Sit down and wallow in a bowl of delicious cherry ice-cream? Nope. Nature has seen to it that injuring squirrels, fine-- me , just pisses them (ME) off.

      What sort of havoc can an enraged tree-climber with a lovely tail do? Plenty. Walls have crumbled, equipment has been destroyed, sheds have been torn down to their bases, and other things that I do not feel like admitting to.

      This want, to break something when one feels broken, is natural. It's understandable to want to hurt those who hurt us. Those who have seen to it to provide an unwanted lesson. You're only wanted if you're good for something. Only needed if you have a use. Not the first time I've been taught this and I'm smart enough to know that it won't be the last.

      I'm an old enough squirrel to know that not everyone in my life thinks of me this way. (The LOVE and appreciation I have for those who don't is immeasurable.) I'm wise enough to know that I need to have patience before confronting that creature again. Time to let my temper simmer down and the want to verbally break them down to go away. Because I'm very good at breaking things. I could break her with four words, okay-seven, since I'm in the mood to add in a vulgar insult.

      I'm honest enough with myself to know that that that isn't WHO I want to be. I want to do more with my anger than destroy. I want to use it as an ingredient to create. I never want to have to be ashamed later on when looking in the mirror at my loss of control. Of hurting someone else when I was hurt, even if I feel that they really deserve it.

      Baking is my outlet. With it, I'm able to do something useful with my anger. Something that improves maybe not the world, but certainly my mood. It beats stewing and steaming in a funk with my pain. It beats breaking things that I think that I'd regret later.

      Usually, though not always, it works. By the time I'm done making delicious cherry tarts from scratch (yup started making them a bit after midnight), I'm eager to taste them. I'm looking forward to seeing if others enjoy them. If something I gave them made them smile and brightened their day. I'm not giving one single fuck for the asshole who thought that just because I like being helpful and have a deep well of patience, that they can take me for granted. In the end, if that's how they truly feel, then I know they aren't worth my caring or my time. It's better to find out , than to continue on believing otherwise.

      I wish more people would use their anger to create instead of destroy. How much better would our world be if we did more baking and less breaking?

      Confession: I broke a few eggs when making the dough. ;)

art and flair courtesy of @PegasusPhysics

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