Dear you,

What part of don't communicate with me are you having trouble with? Not content with the original message, your emails appeared in my junk mail folder, easily deleted and not read. Of course, some part of you wants the last word, the last vestige of victory by getting in the last statement. It's pretty fucking sad that you have to follow me to IJ to do so, checking what comms I'm in so you'll know to post in one so that I'll read what you have to say.

Grow up, little child. You're acting like the age of your own offspring, throwing a temper tantrum because you can't get your way and only when you found the means to do so do you get that feeling like somehow you've scored the winning point. Or perhaps that point comes with me writing this. Whatever.

The best part of reading what you felt like saying? That you are, like I've suspected, a complete fucking headcase. It almost gives rise to a twinge of sympathy to how pathetic you are. Almost, not quite. I can only chuckle at how far you decided to go. Beautiful thing is, I can leave comms. Babble all you want, you attention-seeking nutbar, I'm no longer listening.

Gone,
Me

Current Mood: amused