Sometimes, writing very angry things down on paper is all that you need to do.  Sometimes, typing them onto a screen over the course of two hours — two very bitter, angry, black-metal fueled hours — and then re-reading your words, and then highlighting them all and hitting delete is all you need.

Rather than go over the same ground that I’ve beaten into a concrete floor, I will simply say to the people in my life that have never taken me for granted, or tried to make me feel guilty for their self-imposed problems (knowing full well that I feel in no small part responsible for the well-being of those around me, for better or worse), or lied to me to get their spoiled bitch way: thank you.

To the others, who probably don’t think this applies to them: I know who you are, even if you don’t.

——-

On a lighter note: if you really want to drive your blog’s traffic up, post a topless picture of Phoebe Cates (specifically, from Fast Times at Ridgemont High) in one of your rants.  (The daily traffic here — or more probably, just to that one post — has gone up, I shit you not, about 3000% in the past few weeks, and after eight years, I’m pretty confident that it’s not my writing.)