Totes vague-blogging like fuck here. But a Thing has caught my eye.
If I’m wrong, I’m wrong. I’m not above being called out when necessary. If my shit stinks, no amount of Febreze is going to make it better. That shit has got to go.
If I have hurt you, I need to know. Not to gloat or hold it over you. Not to be haughty and say you need to develop a higher pain tolerance. So I can stop doing whatever it is I’m doing that hurts you and try to make amends. (Unless we’re at war, but if we are, you will know before I launch any volleys.)
If we did something in the past that was okay then, but it’s not okay with you now, tell me before I offend you. People change. I’ve been reminded of that with surgical sharpness today already. You have your life to live and you need to be okay with it. If others can’t deal with your change, then fuck ‘em. But please don’t hold me as hostile because I haven’t changed with you. (Or even know that you’ve changed your lifestyle.)
This post has been brought to you by the letter ‘E’, the hollow feeling of nostalgia, and the number 7.