I try really hard not to write about my frustrations (though I know I write about them occasionally), because I realize some of them are so stupid and petty, and they make me feel stupid and petty.  And so many people, instead of telling me what I need to hear (Suck it up, Buttercup!), either try to explain it to me, or tell me why I’m right for being frustrated, or look down on M for His decisions/actions/orders/rules/whatever.

I think that last is what keeps me from discussing my frustrations more than any of the others.  I mean, yeah… M’s got some frivolous, silly rules, and a few quirks that drive me nuts.  But honestly, I think everyone does.  And He could be so much more of a bastard if He wanted to.  I gave Him that right.

By the time this posts, I probably won’t even be able to remember what I was frustrated about today.  Hell, I’m having trouble remembering everything I was thinking about before I started writing this.  Writing has always been cathartic for me.  And I have no exact direction, so I’m just gonna ramble.  Read more…