Soap Operas.

There are times where I am literally dumbfounded by people's pharisaicness.

I realise that my essence in some people's lives has just been shit. I'm not going to deny that I've probably caused a disproportionate amount of stress for individuals with my silly actions and uncaring demeanor.
But lets be honest folks, the stress was more than likely deserved, or unavoidable, and the ostentatious bottom line is that: If I added shit to your life, your life was probably shit to begin with. I probably just got mixed into it at a bad time and perhaps made you see it for what it was.*

Actually, the ostentatious bottom line is: That's just how life works. I'd be an egotistical, super freak to take the credit for it.

I've left a very cryptic account of the people in my life over the past month for many reasons. I've had to remove posts, censor my thoughts, calm my emotions quietly and frankly, just be nice for the sake of individuals that are currently circulating through my life.
I've done all of this for one and one reason alone: Some fat and annoying cunt of a woman feels the need to open her gapping gob for a blither with her co-workers about my existence. This obsessive wacko has apparently leached onto my life and lifestyle and thoroughly enjoys sussing it out in very embarrassing conversations. Unfortunately, the embarrassing conversations have no impact on me, but rather on other aquaintenances of mine and she's making quite a fool of herself, mainly because my cryptic accounts on my blog have NOTHING to do with what she thinks. So now, I'm forced to explain, with a vague hope that she'll own up to her stupidity and just shut the fuck up.

I cannot comment on the amount of anger that welled in me when Ann stuck her fat fingers into an innocent crush regarding my manager from Wal Mart.
YES, I had a crush on Paul and yes, I wrote a chaste, love-sick account about baking him a coffee cake which he never received. Yes I think Paul is a funny fellow and yes, I enjoy his personality but that is the extent of what I think of Paul.
The notorious, "blue tie" is not Paul. It never has been Paul and it never will be Paul. I do not want to fuck him, I do not want to steal him away from his wife, I have not been stalking him and I have no desire to write about him here because his existence in my life is about as relevant as any old manager's should be.
You'd have to be some sort of selfrighteous bungler to fill in the blanks of an ambiguous account of a faceless and nameless man on my blog. You'd have to be an even larger selfrighteous bungler to take your summary to work with you and blurt it out in the open like it's common knowledge that, OMG, everyone cares about.

One has to wonder when the enlightening comet of, "duh" would strike this dumbass with the screaming realisation that telling fibs about my life could indirectly induce a very large amount of discomfort for their current co-workers. This is just flat out cruel and rude. It's also quite stupid as the person who it could be inflicting is the person who signs your paychecks.

I'm a twenty-three-year-old, struggling student with a bad relationship and a semi-enthused desire to write about it. The only conclusion I can reach as to why someone would want to discuss my soap opera is that they can't find something entertaining enough on their own channel. Either that, or they're just a simple fucking dupe.

The person whom I am writing about is my ex boyfriend James.
James and I dated during my last year of highschool. He was a film student, I was an art student, we made beautiful, fucked up shit together.
I was his first girlfriend, he wasn't ready for one and the whole thing just sorta fell apart because of inexperience and bad timing.
James met a very nice girl in college and has been dating her ever since. I refer to her as, "his wife" as I refer to my boyfriend as, "my wife." If my readers would bother to talk to me, rather than about me, they'd probably realise that my dialect doesn't necessarily parallel their own.
Recently James and I have been conversing more frequently. We've gotten together to watch some films, just like the good ol' times and I have sincerely enjoyed his company. Now that we're older and more experienced, a relationship with James seems more possible. It's always that, "what we could have had" scenario that plays out in the back of my head and recently, it's been playing quite often.
Naturally James and I have had some discussion as of late about our doomed love and they've become a little erotic - It happens. As far as my sexual outbursts go, I'm an insanely sexual person. I've noted before, I haven't had sex in a month and I am quite descriptive and quite overwhelming when I need to get stuffed by a cock. Obviously, I'm going to vent.
So while I've been spending all sorts of different time with James, a light has been rekindled. We're both quite excited by eachother's company and I imagine that it's because we're both quite lonely. I realised this just recently, not a week ago when I wrote my last post. I'm human. Sometimes it takes me a bit longer to figure out why I do what I do because of this fault.

So I sent him a letter last week and I was quite stupid to do so.
I've never quite gotten accustomed to allowing my significant others to access my email, mail and other personal information and it strikes me as quite odd when others allow their partners to. It didn't click that his girlfriend could open the letter until I couldn't take it back.
Now that I've moved to Toronto, my time with James has become very limited. It usually exists on msn, for ten minutes because I either have to go to bed, or his mother is lurking over his shoulder, wondering what he's doing on the internet so late. It's frustrating, which is why I've been so short in my past posts.

I hope this clarifies some of the confusion for my readers. I hope this makes them feel like dumb shits and encourages them to perahps keeps their pesky noses in their own affairs and out of mine.

I left Fort Erie to get on with my life. I have no desire to relive it's insanity because of one woman's inability to get over her husband's decisions.

*I sincerely feel no guilt for the particular role I am relating this post to. It was necessary and bound to happen and I'm quite thrilled that I did infact, cause so much discomfort and awfulness for a woman who profoundly deserved it.