| Of broken telephones |

While I may have one of my most daunting exams ahead of me, my mind is not quite focused on the course material right now. In fact, I cannot quite get over how very interesting social habits are, especially within certain circles. I cannot fathom the necessity for talking about people behind their backs when those same people would love to engage in a conversation to clear things up and to bring healing. (I'm speaking intentionally in generalities here, not wanting to single out my intended recipient...but you know who you are.)

I simply must vent. I think that is the problem. We all feel an internal desire to express ourselves. When frustration mounts to a boiling point, we simply must blow off steam. When life is overwhelming we find someone to talk to or to find support from. Yet I wonder why it's not possible to go to the root of this mounting frustration and simply deal with the problem. It seems altogether rational for this type of approach.

Alas, this is not the case. And I find myself the source of slander and slur alike. Like wildfire, people casually (yet secretively) pass on the hearsay; like a game of broken telephone, the message changes slightly with each transaction.

But this I know: I'm here. I have a phone, and it's not broken. I have many ways to be reached. If you harbour ill feelings for me, let's talk.

That's all.