The letter or email I did not write echoes in my head; I had the letters arranged on the page, ready to send, then I realized, it doesn’t matter. It never mattered. The only thing sending them would accomplish is creating that odd state of discomfort (if anything at all) where you wonder, briefly, how or why I got so upset when it’s OBVIOUSLY so unimportant.
Forever missing importance and finding out after the fact; it’s like being so unimportant that no one can even remember (bother?) to tell you; it would be like apologizing to an ant you stepped on while walking to your car.
No one ever does that, right?
I dislike being reminded that I am, at best, marginal to anyone, at any point, anywhere in the world. Don’t get me wrong; I have become comfortable with it, but having it unexpectedly rear up and laughingly remind in cutting ways is not comfortable.
I find I wish my friends were not scattered to the corners of the world. Leave it to me to have friends as roly-poly mobile as I am. (wry grin)
I don’t care who you are or what the excuse, it is never fun being stood up by someone you were looking forward to spending time with…. particularly when they make it very clear that the only reason they ever agreed in the first place was that they weren’t really thinking about it.
Meh. This is me winging a mental bird at ’em before setting m’back to ’em. I don’t have to be your friend, I only wanted to.