Sylvanna Devlin

Ahhh Oregon. You wild, wild, west you.

This is about certain assholes, since it’s getting missed that most of the building probably wants to avoid coming to notice – and indeed have been quite nice.

Just not everyone

And for no fucking reason other than taking no shit.

Heinous!

Anyway…

All the martial arts training in the world doesn’t prepare you for threats and bullying from the safety of the other side of the door.

Mine was a long time ago admittedly. Mostly off record, and with personal attention. But I have age and speed and some bitch has bravado.

“You write another post like that and we’ll come to blows.”

Oh we will? Do you promise? Because now I’m in a mood.

Go ahead, break down the door. Go to jail. I can defend myself just fine you stupid bitch.

Since I’m the one with the least to lose, I’m the one to fear the most. And I’d like to avoid breaking bone if I counter strike.

Thank you.

I’m trying to figure out if I can ever be happy again.

So far the vote is no. Not around the hen house of “bitches and cunts”. (Originally intended to say the whole building isn’t like that. But the truth doesn’t give as much moaning material.)

My soul will never heal. I will never return to the light. No one cares anyway so fuck it.

But apparently, according to my very loud neighbor, “The real Sylvanna? Abusive.”

That’s what abusive bitches now do, expecting us to shy away from rebuking them for fear of being accused of that which is destroying us.

It’s looking pretty likely my death is preferable to everyone. But I’m in a mood.

Blows over blog posts?

The fuck is wrong with you?

Fucking don’t like it, don’t read it.

Do you all imagine you’re some cowboys in a film about stopping a book before your shitty power tactics are exposed? Can I leave your film please?

Come back to reality, you stupid bitches.

This is the 21st. Century but apparently women here handle criticism form another woman like stoning to death is an option.

Actually that might be preferable to listening to my neighbor complain about me again. Loud enough so I can hear. But she fusses to management if I cry too loudly. And if I drop something she says I’m throwing things.

And god please help her avoid banging on the fucking wall then telling management it was me. I can’t reach my wall. My fingers are too fragile and I’m fucking fed up.

Just… I don’t know. Learn to behave like civilized adults.

The rest of the building probably thinks we all lost our damn minds. I know I’m going crazy.

Now if you don’t mind I need to pray for your poison to be eradicated from my body never to return to me.

It’s the only recourse I have left.

,

P.S according to the peanut gallery, “none of us like you anymore.”

Really? Who the fuck are you? Do you take this personally?

Then it’s about you, and you can fuck right off you fucking child!

And

“I’m going to make sure amazon doesn’t deliver to her anymore”

About

A

Fucking

Blog

Post

What the fuck is wrong with you?