Munitions

Congratulations are in order for yours truly! I have accomplished another feat! I get to be the bad guy again! I have acted opposite another person and have, in the process, pissed them off enough to slag me over and over, in spite of a peace agreement. In a lot of ways, I’m used to it. Being the fall guy, being the last guy in the room full of weapons, it’s a familiar feeling to me. “Oops, um, these grenades are sooooooo not mine. Nor are the mines. Um, they’re yours, right? No? Fuck.”

I’m not blameless. Please don’t get that impression. I said a few things in a protected forum that leaked out. A few things that the other party found to be embarrassing. I get that, too. I’ve heard things I shouldn’t have heard before and was totally embarrassed, not because those things weren’t true, but because a few people whom I didn’t want to read them totally did. But that was before we met at the United Nations and agreed to unilateral disarmament. It turned out that there were a few spare munitions left, however. What’s that buzzing in my ear? Oh, BOOM? Okay!

Is this my last word on the subject (Or only word, for that matter…)? Probably. There’s no point in crying over spilled milk and there’s certainly no point in dragging someone’s name through the mud. The person on the other side of the negotiation table is actually a pretty nice person. The person on the other side of the Berlin Wall of our, um, hearts (My metaphors suck tonight.) is a pretty clever person with a great sense of humor. But we just argued and misunderstood each other far too much in the span of one short week to ever consider continuing our previous arrangement.

So, see you later. I hope you find happiness. I hope you find that true love you desire. If you ever need to talk to me, I’ll be over here on my side of the wall, counting grenades…