Karen muttered, “I am calm,” as her Chihuahua, Max, hurled a vase into a thousand shards. The crash echoed like a gong. She blinked. “I am confident.” Max yanked the curtains down, sending dust bunnies into a frenzy. Karen’s toe tapped. “I am joyful.” Max launched a rubber chicken at her forehead. She caught it, then froze. The chicken squawked. “I am resilient,” she whispered. Max peed on her yoga mat. She stared at the puddle. “I am worthy of peace,” she said, voice cracking. Max sneezed, knocking over a lamp. Karen laughed until tears blurred the chaos. “I am…” she began, then surrendered to the noise, smiling as Max licked her face. The affirmations, she realized, were just dialogue. The dog was the punchline.
