As the title says… this wasn’t. My daughter’s birthday. It’s been one year. What a year it’s been. People deal with loss in many different ways. Some people cry and are upfront with their emotions… others choose to not let people see or know how they’re feeling. I’ve tried both ways of grieving. The latter seems to work best for me. It allows me to fuel the hatred I feel towards little twerps who don’t have the courage to look me in the eyes when I’m out in town shopping.

The last couple of days all I’ve been thinking about is how much harm I want to inflict upon someone… constantly thinking of how many different ways to get away with taking out this person permanently. I don’t want my life to be consumed with hatred forever… but it doesn’t seem like it’ll ever end.

People have a nerve commenting on the content of my blog or the content of my character… saying either are not good, or bad or anything negative.  I won’t ever have wild alcoholic binges in front of my children… I won’t allow them to smoke… I won’t allow them to take drugs… I won’t allow them to be roaming around doing whatever they like in the small hours of the morning.  I sure as hell won’t kick them out of the house when they do something I do not like.  I work real hard… at an honest job, giving my all every day, not needing payouts of any kind from anyone including welfare… to keep my family comfortable.  Yet people question my character?  Can I get a ‘haha you’re funny’ for $400 please Alex?

I know I’m supposed to be the more mature one and forgive, and remember that person is a cowardly shytbag with a life that’ll never amount to anything except an alcoholic drug addict, but I cannot help hating… I cannot help wanting to shoot the person dead… I cannot help wondering if taking them out would be worth the consequences of life in prison? I dearly hope I never think it would.

I met another British bloke today. A seriously great bloke called Steve. He’s from Bedford… about three miles away from where one of my sort-of-ex-girlfriends is from – Kempston. It felt so great to be around one of my own… to not feel like I’m the odd one out. To hear someone with a real proper accent was music to my ears. Only met him for about five minutes, but I hope he does come back in November. Apparently my London accent came back real strong in those five minutes. That’s definitely a good thing. I’m really not liking the way I talk now.