Worry…

20 May

I see my stats and notice that I’m getting more hits. I hope that this is because I’m reaching more people, not because my MIL and her awful friends have found my blog again.

I worry that they will start harassing me over e-mail. I worry that my every step is being followed.

But I don’t want to hide.

I LOVE my life and I would love to just rub it in their faces how much better my life is than they ever imagined it to be. Considering I’m supposed to be the one who ruins it all, I just want to laugh in their faces. (That sounds like I’m an evil bitch, doesn’t it? I’m honestly a really nice person, just really annoyed right now!)

But then I worry that it’s all going to explode.

It’s like I’m always waiting for the next shoe to drop, for the next argument to be started.

I try so hard to be the adult, but when someone who’s much older than you acts as though she should be in high school, it’s very difficult to not stoop to her level. She’s like the girl who called me a bitch and turned quite a few girls against me in middle and high school…but you know what? I’ve had the better life. It’s amazing how my MIL and the girl in question are alike in many way…from stature to mannerisms. It’s too bad though. I thought I left high school behind 8 years (holy shit, it’s been 8 years) ago.

And yet, I’m re-living it again.

Thankfully, my life then and my life now were (are) rewarding. I LOVE my life. I have amazing friends, amazing family, amazing talent (if I must say so myself), and an amazing out-look on my life as a whole.

I just wish I could get rid of that one bad apple who is insisting on ruining the entire bushel.

But like high school, this will pass. Hopefully, it will pass rather uneventfully from now on.

I don’t want to live my life in a constant state of worry.

So I’m not going to. They know to go away. If they don’t, they will suffer the consequences. After all, according to them, I’m the biggest bitch this side of the Mississippi. I refuse to let myself live worrying about what other people think. Or whether they will take my words and twist them so I don’t recognize them anymore.

No more. No more worry.

It’s over.

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