Mutter

So my mom doesn't call them democrats, she calls them demon-craps. Yes, I do not agree with them on most things, but I don't agree with a lot of people on a lot of things. With all my mom's bitchery on everything, I have felt more intense rage than I would desire to inflict on anyone no matter how horribly I felt about them. It's more of a terrible sadness now. I've had friends on both sides of war and seen them kill each other. I don't want to lash out at people, I don't want all this rage. I want to do my best to protect and love, and for those people who are murderers I feel deep sorrow when they die because that ends their chances of ever getting back with the Lord. But, if it's between letting them live to kill again or hurt another in a despicable fashion, I would take them down my self. Not kill them unless it was outright necessary, but tear them down and break them so they would be unable to hurt anyone ever again whether physically or mentally.

But I truly hate that she is so willing to make it that children breaking rules automatically makes it a GOOD thing when they die. Some kids were up by a lake and drowned. They were illegal and couldn't read the sign that there was no swimming allowed there. They were my age. My mother laughed when she heard the news and spoke along the lines of 'good riddance'. I never wish to be like her.

I can't tell whether I'm shaking with cold from the morning or with rage that this woman is sitting within 15 feet of me and she doesn't know how disgusted I am with her.

She goes through the motions. She and ugly pray and read the Bible every morning from what I've seen, the same start to the prayer muttered repeatedly every time. She works in the church cafe and smiles and greets people, whom I can't tell her anything because telling her is telling the church. Gossipy foolish woman.

I get to delete the history for google chrome now because I have to hide my blog. They'll probably get curious as to what I look at eventually.

Ah, I'm being nearly bitched at. Terribly fascinating how she can still find the means to do that when my birthday party's today. Lovely old wench ain't she? As soon as I stop and actually finish the chapter of what I'm reading, then I'll go get dressed. Have a decent sized list of to do things today.

First her voice gets angry, then it gets mixed with disgust, then rage. Who's bipolar? Me. Who's not? Her. She's just a ~insert whatever word you deem to fit here~. I'll figure out some good qualities to stick in later here. If I can think of any.

Oh yeah, here's one. Usually we try to ignore each other. End.

Have a fantastic day.