It hurts to get the cold-shoulder. I lie awake at night, the glare of the digital alarm clock numbers mocking me in my misery and loneliness. I ponder my possible indiscretions, review my actions, and replay my words, all in an effort to see how I have offended. I wonder at my short comings. What did I do wrong? What did I say that would cause such obvious dismissal? Did I break some rule that remains a mystery to me? I admit that I occasionally put my foot in my mouth, but I don’t think I did this time.
I have never had to feel the sting of being ignored. I always receive some sort of response. I can deal with someone not liking me. I can handle unwanted attention. I can even bear people liking me on occasion. But why would someone give me the brush off?
I toy with the idea of outrageous behavior to garner recognition. Perhaps I should curse and stomp my feet. I could lift up my shirt like they do in the Girls Gone Wild videos (it might not be pretty, but I could not be discounted.)
I want to blurt aloud for all to hear that I have been slighted and I want to know why. I never thought that “comment moderation” would mean that my comments would not be published. What was wrong with my comments that you wouldn’t post them for others to see? But more importantly, why do I care that a complete stranger will not post my comments?
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I know I shouldn’t be happy at someone’s death, but Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi [was] Killed in Air Raid and I am.
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This woman is proof that you only need to be obnoxious and rude to be famous and make money. Her lack
of intelligence doesn’t prevent people from buying her books. Come on people, let’s not encourage the