The End of the World as We Know It

This is a substantially redacted version of a post I’ve been ranting out of my fingertips in the last 24 hours. I may – or may not, who can ever say? – add in some of the rest of the material in forthcoming posts. I’m posting this for the sake of that minuscule handful of people that follow this blog that do not share contact with me elsewhere; those that do will know most of this story. It’s not that interesting anyway; I merely have a penchant for verbosely stringing things out. Uninteresting or otherwise, the material detailed kind of represents A Big Deal in the life of the present author, and indeed of those around her (most notably The Man, but others too). Apparently it’s the kind of A Big Deal that should be all warm and fuzzy! Apparently I am A Very Bad Person for not instantaneously recognising this indisputable fact! Apparently moral relativism is a poor philosophical construct! Apparently a lot of the ranting I’ve removed from what follows might have been related to attitudes of that nature! Apparently I will stop being facetious anon and get to the point! Hasta luego, and beware of the dog, the dog being a plethora of swear words (yes, old-timers, I’m back to my old self. Apparently).

[Redacted: lengthy introductory bollocks and content notes about cursing, length and a general tendency to vituperate. None of those things have abated (well, the length has, but to the uninitiated it will still appear long), but it’s enough for you to know that they’re there; wanking on about them for five years isn’t a particularly efficient use of one’s time.]

Anyone that had been reading up to and including my last post will know that stuff was by and large okay. That must have been pretty frustrating for those of you that enjoyed the misanthropic, fuck-everything rants for which I’d become mildly famous in our little community – despite being psychologically well, it was in a sense for me too. Being a snide bellend who was incapable of doing anything other than bitching out 3,000 words on top an electronic page of potent hate seemed so much more intellectually satisfying than writing, “yeah, life’s not making me want to set a Death Star on this dump of a planet!” (or whatever shitty euphemism was used in the stead of such a phrase). Nevertheless, that bland nicey-nicey Nice positive existence continued for a bit after I last posted. My work with MindWise (still ongoing, sort of – I’ll explain sometime) was rather excellent. The training was (is) of a high quality; I’ve met some great people; I’ve been involved in some very interesting projects; I feel that I’ve helped a truly worthwhile organisation (even if only in a small way). That’s Nice, and I remain glad of it, despite the foregoing invective about Nice. There is a place for Nice; it’s just that Nice for Nice‘s sake is not particularly interesting.

That’s Exceedingly Interesting and Everything, But I Actually Have Things to Do Here. Continue reading


Okay, lads and ladies – before we go any further (do you love me? Will you love me forrrrrrreverrrrrrr? That’s one of my party pieces with my brother-in-law, but I’ll leave those tales for another time), I’d better warn you that this post is probably not that attractive. It’s about irritable bowel syndrome and related maladies, and is likely to involve discussion about shit. I mean ‘shit shit’, not just shit, as in, “oh, that’s a bit rubbish”. Okay? I’ll put the ‘more’ tag in right under this paragraph so as you can do a runner now. Sorry to those of you that subscribe by email 😐

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