the typing of the shrew.

This blog has never been directed at any one person or any one circumstance or purpose. It was always just a media of communication for whatever I hadn't gotten out during the day, or a way to record things I considered worth sharing. Like a compost pile of my time living. I stumbled across the blog of someone I wish I never met recently though, a small person, a bitter person who makes smallness and bitterness look like loneliness and heartbrokenness. But it is not. It is a blog of sad attacks, not so subtly masking target with initials or nicknames that makes it that much more like a Lindsay Lohan lyric book. I want to do that today--to mark down my own small feelings toward this flamboyantly small person and everyone else that simple lets her shrink and simmer out of laziness or self-preservation. Nobody wants to get sucked in as a victimized subject line in a blog authored by the queen victim, so they make sure to remain as no obstacle or hindrance on the pathway of destruction. I am most certainly both an obstacle, hindrance and target. This time, though, I do not write to remember, I write to forget. To state this disdain and leave it on the abstract waves of the internet, so far from meaningful and permanent, but said and done.