Expendable Mudge Muses Aloud

Everything ends.

 

I want the good times to last, and the people I care about to care about me, and the happy places to get happier instead of darker and less happy.

 

And that plus a Metrocard will get me on the subway. Nothing stays the same, people change their ideas of each other, disagreements on fundamental worldviews fracture friendships. It's the nature of the world, and it's still my least favorite part of this whole thing we got going on here on Earth.

 

It's amazing to me how much I've invested in book socializing, writing reviews that seemed to amuse and entertain and possibly even persuade the people who followed me on Goodreads, all 1600-plus of 'em. But seriously, how can I trust the Powers That Be not to decide, for whatever capricious reason they feel like, to alter or delete my reviews?

 

It affects me not at all as of now. All my data is backed up. But my trust isn't backed up. It's flushed like the communal toilet.

 

And the friends who, for their own reasons, don't feel this fight is worth their energy to fight, are beginning to snipe, snark, and complain about the battle being waged on their behalf. Okay, fine...ignore it, but don't belittle or insult the people who won't lie down and accept whatever Master delivers.

 

Some respect is not too much to ask. Not for the cause, but for the fighters. But it would seem not. And that makes me sadder than all the rest put together.

 

Reblogged from Expendable Mudge Muses Aloud