So lately Kizzy has been a bit of a feline asshole.

I think it's because we're almost out of his expensive prescription cat food and normally he has his bowl refreshed several times a day.

Due to present circumstances, he is eating leftovers.

It just goes to show: Anyone can develop First World problems. Even a pound cat.

So today he tried to show me his vampire teeth, which is what we call the face he does when he's ready to fuck your shit up and he kind of half opens his mouth so just his bottom canines show like he thinks he's Jack Nicholson. I was all, "No, cat, I worked all day and ran five miles and rode a horse and you can kiss my big white ass if you think you're going to bite me, but he honed in like I was Buttonsworth and this was the Sumo Olympics of catdom. So I blew in his face and put him in time out, because that is what adults do. Although I may have yelled, "I am the alpha," at the same time because I have too many damn people in my life right now who seem to forget I am the boss of me. Including my little black cat.

So. Did you have a shitty day? Take a deep breath and fill your lungs, then scream, "I am the alpha!" You'll feel better. Trust me.

When I was younger, I was always positive I was right.

The older I get, I realize all our politics are the same. Only the hero is different.

My father has a saying: "Sometimes you're the windshield, and sometimes you're the bug."

That echoes in my mind almost daily. I don't relish being either, but I get we are all both, depending on the situation.

With the national events of the past few weeks and my own usual tendency to absorb emotion wherever I find it, I've grown agitated. It primes me to be the asshole.

That's not a great feeling, to realize you actually want to turn people away at the door, just because you're mad.

That's where I've been, though. Even though that's not how I see myself.

It's disconcerting to realize you could be the stone stuck in a craw, the branch across a road. But we all believe we are heroes of our own stories, and that's important to remember as we move through the world.

Everyone thinks he or she is right.

And therein lies the rub.

"Mama," she said, "eventually I suppose I'll have to get SnapChat and Instagram because it would be weird if I didn't have it. But I'm waiting, because I'm afraid I'll get caught up in it."

I looked guiltily at my phone.

"You're wise," I said, wishing I were as smart as she is at twelve. "There's a lot of danger in caring too much whether strangers like you."

Sometimes, I feel like a goat. Bleating. Because I am so useless.

Last year at BlogHer, I went to a panel about white privilege, among other things. I was one of the fewer than 10 white people there, and I was ashamed. Not to be there, but that more white people weren't.

I should've written about it then. I don't blog so much anymore. But that's not an excuse.

It's not intentional, not to write. It's that with all the bullshit that's gone on in the past two years (the past 1,000 years), I'm starting to wonder what people think of me. I haven't been able to achieve any change. Not that I have delusions of grandeur. It's just ... am I just a goat?

It is even privileged to wonder such a thing, to think my voice should matter. I want to speak, to show solidarity. But I also recognize that to speak is to interrupt, at this point.

I don't want to interrupt.

I don't want to bleat.

I don't want to be silent, lest that be seen as acceptance.

I sit in audiences, listening to my friends speak of racial inequality. I sit to bear witness and show my face. I'm not sure how my friends interpret my presence. I hope they see me as supporting them, not inserting myself.

I find it hard to believe we haven't come farther. I find it hard to believe we've come this far.

I still can't fathom any person ever thought it was okay to "own" another person.

Sentient beings can't be owned.

I won't let my daughter ever forget that. We, white people, we screwed up so bad for so long. But we are all human beings.

Damn.