“We have the right, and the obligation, to tell old stories in our own ways, because they are our stories.” – Neil Gaiman
At this point, I don’t feel like I need to explain myself. This blog isn’t Facebook, and though I am aware that this is the internet, I kind of feel like this is my own private corner. You’re reading this because I have allowed you to read this, or because you’re a friend or fellow blogger, no other reason. And I swear to all that is good in this world, that if I get one more person reading something I have written on here and giving me shit for it, I will tell you exactly where you can go with your “opinions” and other bullshit.
That being said, I have no outlet in which to deal with the subject matter of my last post. As much as I wish this was the proper forum, it’s not because of the paragraph above, and I am not sure whether that makes me more angry or just sad. I can only run over so many times in my head, talk it over with my boyfriend, or just plain push it aside, before I start the slow explosion that is my distrust/anger/resentment/annoyance at everyone and everything involved.
How is this for the vaguest post ever written?
I can say this though, I am currently very satisfied with my job and my relationship, so it’s nice to have consistency in those areas.
Summer has arrived in Washington, and I am currently working on another Seattle Series post, though I am not sure when it’ll be finished. Hopefully next week sometime, but we’ll see if I can get out to the ‘location’ this weekend to take photos. The Ballard Seafood Festival is this weekend, and I’ll be spending Saturday at Golden Gardens just down the road, so who knows what I’ll get accomplished.