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I don’t hate them; I just don’t understand why people feel the need to try over and over with toxic family members. I know who my parents are. They’re not the worst, but they’re still awful, and I don’t need their chaos spinning in and out of my life when I’m not expecting it.
People cause pain. Even good people hurt those they love. We all do it because we can’t help it. Most of us aren’t evil; we’re just stupid and flawed and not careful with others.
Frankly, fictional people appeal far more to me than real people do. In fiction, the choices have to make sense. The timeline proceeds rationally. Emotions are explained to me. Characters feel the way they are supposed to feel in response to the actions of others. Nobody stays in a bad situation because of inertia or low self-esteem. That would make for a truly shitty story. But in real life . . . God, in real life people so rarely behave in ways that improve their circumstances. Why? Why, why, why? This is one of those things I’ll never understand. All I know is books are better.
I like food more than people.
Oh, Jesus, I’m a size ten. This guy really needs to get a grip.
Another prejudice I’ll never understand. Sex is apparently for procreation and not pleasure, and that’s why gay sex is wrong, yet none of the men I’ve slept with have ever been in it for the babies. Strange.
Why fight and bicker and scream if the other person decides they’re ready to go? If someone wants to leave, the only thing to do is move on. Find someone else. Have some pride.
