Things I cannot write about
There are times when I struggle to think of anything to write on this blog. At other times I’m full of wee stories or thoughts I want to put up, but don't have the time.
But there are times when I really want to write about something but cannot because this blog is not anonymous. I want to write about it to get it off my chest; I want to write about it because it explores the human psyche and emotional impact on my life; I want to write about it because I think it would make damn good reading; and I want to write about it because I would really value the input and perspective from many of my regular commenters who I have come to respect over the months.
However, if I were to write about these topics then it would be a violation of trust and privacy of some of those closest to me.
At the moment there are at least three major areas in my life that fit into this category.
Firstly there is *****. Her ******* is back in her **** and treating her like **** again. Quite apart from the all the frustration I feel at the fact that *** **** *** bastard **** into her ****, it has turned out that *** *** promises to be a ******* *** was a bunch of lies. ** ** *** manipulating *** and destroying *** ****-**********. Quite frankly the bastard should be hung from the nearest tree by the ***** and ****** to within an inch of his life.
Then there is the whole thing about ** **-****. It’s difficult enough trying to deal with the fact that ** ******-**-*** is ********* from ********, but ** ******-**-*** is having ******** where he doesn’t ********* *** *** is. And the stupid ****** doctor who did a test ** ***, asking *** questions like “**** *** is it?” and “Who is the ***** *******?” She was ***** that **** ** scored 30/30 that there was nothing wrong **** ***. Unfortunately she didn’t ask, “Where ** **** ****?” or “*** ** **** ***** ******* ** the chair behind you?”
Thirdly… well, I’m not even going to blank out the words on this one because it is far too personal.
Mind you, I also missed out all the stuff about **** ***** and his *********, ******, which ******** **** ***, and the **** I’m going to **** ****** in when I have to **** *** that *** ** a crisis of conscience * *** ** ****** help *** ***** his *******.
Oh yeah, and then there’s all the **** to do with ** ******, not to mention ** ******, and of course the frustration, anger and angst surrounding ** ****** and *****
Maybe one day I’ll write it all down in my memoirs to be published after I die.
But there are times when I really want to write about something but cannot because this blog is not anonymous. I want to write about it to get it off my chest; I want to write about it because it explores the human psyche and emotional impact on my life; I want to write about it because I think it would make damn good reading; and I want to write about it because I would really value the input and perspective from many of my regular commenters who I have come to respect over the months.
However, if I were to write about these topics then it would be a violation of trust and privacy of some of those closest to me.
At the moment there are at least three major areas in my life that fit into this category.
Firstly there is *****. Her ******* is back in her **** and treating her like **** again. Quite apart from the all the frustration I feel at the fact that *** **** *** bastard **** into her ****, it has turned out that *** *** promises to be a ******* *** was a bunch of lies. ** ** *** manipulating *** and destroying *** ****-**********. Quite frankly the bastard should be hung from the nearest tree by the ***** and ****** to within an inch of his life.
Then there is the whole thing about ** **-****. It’s difficult enough trying to deal with the fact that ** ******-**-*** is ********* from ********, but ** ******-**-*** is having ******** where he doesn’t ********* *** *** is. And the stupid ****** doctor who did a test ** ***, asking *** questions like “**** *** is it?” and “Who is the ***** *******?” She was ***** that **** ** scored 30/30 that there was nothing wrong **** ***. Unfortunately she didn’t ask, “Where ** **** ****?” or “*** ** **** ***** ******* ** the chair behind you?”
Thirdly… well, I’m not even going to blank out the words on this one because it is far too personal.
Mind you, I also missed out all the stuff about **** ***** and his *********, ******, which ******** **** ***, and the **** I’m going to **** ****** in when I have to **** *** that *** ** a crisis of conscience * *** ** ****** help *** ***** his *******.
Oh yeah, and then there’s all the **** to do with ** ******, not to mention ** ******, and of course the frustration, anger and angst surrounding ** ****** and *****
Maybe one day I’ll write it all down in my memoirs to be published after I die.
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