So fucking angry.
The goddamn cats went on a rampage and broke some things. I hate them. So fucking much.
And then I hated them even more when I tried to sweep up the broken shards and the shitty broom and dustpan set fell apart (fuck you, too, Michael Graves from Target), and then, I, being mature, started smashing the stupid fucking broken handle into the floor and swearing a bit.
I don't like getting that angry. I'm sick of it. I hate those fucking cats.
Still shards all over the kitchen floor. I can't bring myself to go in there. I still get angry thinking about it.