. . . don't know why I fucking bother, it's like talking to a wall
Oh, grow the fuck up.
Sometimes, anger is rooted in someone having done shit to you that really pissed you off. Sometimes, it's rooted in seeing a friend make incredibly stupid choices like, picking an example totally at random, getting involved in another poly scenario when the previous one they were in ended so very well for all involved -- and how is Jana these days, anyway? -- ending up getting hurt, and never quite seeming to make any sort of connection between her dumb-ass choices and the consequences of those choices.
And since you, you, my friend, have apparently managed to push away everyone else in your life who's actually willing to give you a well-deserved foot in the ass, I guess it's up to me.
Joy. Just what I always fucking wanted.
I swear, the Buddhism and the psychobabble are just armor to avoid having to take any sort of responsibility for your shit. . .
Hiya, fellas.
I'm in a great mood today.
And since I'm starting to regret asking goneaway not to go after that Canadian fuck who decided "open posting" meant "posting a chicken-shit anonymous attack on somone's own site," this probably ain't a good time to fuck with me.
Not that there's ever a good time. . .