Rage ON, bitches.

I'm mad, dudes. I am in a towering rage. It's the sort of rage that people rarely feel, and I'd never want them to. It goes deep down, right down into my bones and it would eat me alive if I let it. I am doing my utmost to be a good, caring, gentle human being. I AGONISED over the decision to release a certain post full of information. I carefully came to the choice of using a certain person's internet handle instead of using their real name, so that they could still find work, but still be easily identified as the perpetrator amongst our social circle. Making him a social pariah seemed like an ACCEPTABLE OUTCOME to me. It seems the LEAST of his punishment.

He feels bad? GOOD. HE'S SUPPOSED TO. I'M NOT FEELING BAD ABOUT THAT, OKAY? I'M NOT A BAD PERSON FOR BEING HAPPY THAT HE'S SORRY. IT WAS HIS FAULT. EVERYTHING, ALL OF THIS, IS HIS FAULT, AND HE KNOWS IT. HOW FUCKING DARE HE TURN THIS INTO BEING ABOUT HIM. HOW FUCKING DARE HE. FOR ONCE IN MY FUCKING LIFE I AM TOTALLY JUSTIFIED IN SAYING THAT THIS IS ALL. ABOUT. ME.

So if you wanna come into my journal and tell me that I'm making myself the victim here, or defend that festering gob of shite that hurt me, let me save you the fucking effort. I don't want to hear it.

No really, guys, READ THIS THREAD.

I'm only human. My anger is a weakness in some ways, but it's kept me sane through some of the darkest days of my life so far. Don't you fucking dare tell me that I don't have a right to it, or that you feel bad because I feel bad. DON'T CARE, SERIOUSLY DON'T CARE. YOU REALLY DON'T SERIOUSLY EXPECT ME TO CARE, DO YOU?

... Phew. Good to get that out of my system.

Holiday Cards

I want to send Holiday Cards to people. Will probably be a post-modern bastardisation of perfectly sweet Christmas cards, cause I'm nuts like that.

Email me at nacey (a) iinet.net.au if you would like to hear from me on paper this season.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmaaaas...

My mother's Christmas movie of choice?

DIE HARD.