I find it fascinating that there are people who simply can not operate with even a modicum of transparency or compassion. I'd respect them far more if they'd just be honest about it. I mean, if you're going to be a total bastard, wear it proudly. Get the t-shirt and the vanity plate.
These people know just up what arse the smoke must be blown and can, with lightning fast speed, turn from said aforementioned smoke blowing to blowing poison darts in your direction all the while grinning like a Cheshire cat. We all meet up with weenies, but a rare few are almost pathological in their weenieness.
No, it's not a word. Don't page Websters.
What's frustrating for me is that I want things to be happy and shiny so much so that I often do my best to 'fix it' until I realize, once again, that there is no fixing crazy. The more you try to fix crazy, the more that crazy just rubs off on you and makes you stink. No matter how much you bob, crazy keeps weaving at you with a stealth force and a cruel laugh. I've been dragged into crazy too many times and I'm quite frankly tired of it. Crazy can, quite frankly, kiss my ass.
I'm not made of the stuff that relishes in crushing others. I want to buy the world a Coke and furnish it with love. I want everyone to hold hands and sing Kumbaya. I don't understand and so, therefore, I don't know how to navigate it. How do you navigate someone who revels in being cruel? How do you get the light of truth to shine on someone who is so good at the old razzle dazzle that the people who matter simply can not see how horrid they truly are?
I don't know. I do know that I've had to spend far too much time with this kind of crazy in this lifetime and there must be a reason for it, though it still eludes me.
I do know that 'I will not go gentle into that good night.
(I will) rage, rage against the dying of the light.'
I have missed this blog. I have missed you, Gentler Reader.
Wish me luck while I lace up my steel toed boots, I think I just might need it this time.
Love
Madge
