11 April, 2011

If I could have just a minute of your time?

This is the first and the last time, I swear, where I'll be that emotional on my blog. You readers don't want to see me loose control. I feel like I'm about to, but I can't. So that's that. ^-^
Have you ever felt like you're totally fine, but at the same time at your lowest point? Like you're sad, but you have no right to be? Yeah.
This morning, I logged on to Facebook, as I do most mornings, and put a status imploring people NOT to like their own statuses. I then liked it, to demonstrate irony. Not hypocrisy, not anything akin to stupidity, i-r-o-n-y. I then got a few comments, all of which made me laugh. One of my friends was so impressed that he'd been able to identify said ironic themes. Then, I got another comment from a friend. The comment read 'hypocrite.'. I know that sometimes she's blunt with me online for comic effect, as I am with her. Such is the nature of our relationship. However, her next comment, after my response of 'irony', was something different; 'Seriously, just get down of that high horse of yours'. Right. Well. This comment was liked by three of her friends, and I knew what was coming next. The 'humorous' spelling fails in comments posted by said friends set my teeth on edge. Something to do with the fact that liking own statuses and comments makes them feel special. Then a comemnt from the original disdaner, almost shooting down the page with the amount of sarcasm draped fauz-lazily over it, the words 'Woops...I liked my own comment...'. This in turn was greeted with cool responses from me, enquiring politely although indifferently as to whether she has a problem. She demurred and assented. I said OK. We moved on. What made me shake with rage was the fact that I have done nothing. Go to a local prison. Pick an inmate, any inmate. Ask them if their charges are true. The answer? No. I realise that it's almost physically impossible to admit to your own wrongdoings But this time, I'm serious. I. Have. Done. Nothing. But no. Just as I'm getting a little bit confident, a little bit sure of myself, they cut me down. There I was, making new friends, FINALLY feeling brave enough to approach someone higher up the fodchain than my humble self. And they had to. They had to cut me down again, for their own amusement, presumably. There's something irresistable about the urge to punch someone. Just imagining it makes you feel instantly more powerful. Next time, they had better pick the 'victim' more carefully. Believe me, this is not melodrama. I feel lysically sick, imagining the tribulations forced upon me by girls, mainly, who thought they had something to prove. They need to be better, so by making me look weak, they become more powerful. Yeah, it's just teenage bitching. But if they were adults, they'd be sick and twisted. In my eyes, they are. I would never wish my time as the Underdog upon anyone, not even those responsible for it. They have no idea how much my friends mean to me. To them, sure, it's dispensible. Yeah, they're so popular they don't need anyone. They could have another best friend within a week. Which is why my friendships are better. Because they're simple and honest. And my friends make me strong. They make me who they are. A friend to a cowbag? Just another Primark accessory :)

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