Bloody Fucking Narcissists

Note new sidebar item, a mood indicator set (permanently, judging by the way I feel right now) to "angry."

So much for predicting less gloomy, less angry, more full-of-summer-joy posts. Not going to happen until I get this out my system. The bitch is back and furious as all-hell.

He-Who-Did-Not-Stick-Around-Long-Enough-To-Get-a-Pseudonym, a.k.a. The Grand He, he who wields the Death Grip of Super Masculinity in a way inimitable by wannabes Cruise et. al., has just explained to me in grand condescending detail why he has decided we can never be together. It basically amounts to, "I never expected you to withdraw your attention from me for one second for any reason, even if the reason involved the emotional consequences of my actions, such as deceiving you about obsessively calling my ex-lover and arranging a meeting with her to resolve our differences (on a platonic level, of course). Even though you went to great lengths to understand your reactions and ultimately blamed them on yourself and on your own feelings of being overwhelmed by the suddenness and intensity of the relationship and your own commitment fears, you made me feel bad about myself. I can cope with nothing less than your total and unswervingly devoted attention, and I realize that this is a flaw. I cannot risk that this will ever happen again. This is a fault in me, not in you. I am sorry that this fault in me has caused you such tremendous pain. The Grand He has spoken."

Sorry, Medusa. Whack!