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Nanny Goat Gruff

I am not technically a nanny, but I’m also not a boy.  Any way you slice it, though, I’m tired of butting trolls off my virtual bridge.  (And was it Billy Goats Bluff or Billy Goats Gruff?  It’s been so many years I can’t remember!)

Spammers I get. They annoy me but they’re impersonal robots and for the most part all they want is money, so no big deal.  I literally don’t even see what I’m deleting when it comes to spam, other than in the most impersonal terms.  Trolls, however, just annoy me, kind of like a swarm of mosquitoes.  They don’t do any real harm but they’re a royal pain in the ass sometimes.

This morning I was mulling over how to manage my resident troll, whose San Jose (oh yes, I know where she’s posting from) verbal tantrums keep cropping up in my “pending approval” list.

Trolls apparently don’t get a few  little important details.

1.  Personal insults have zero bearing on what has happened in the months since I posted where they’re commenting.  Dire threats of casting a “spell” on me, and poorly veiled pretense to be someone they’re not – let’s face it, I ain’t quaking in my boots.  And I certainly won’t stop writing because of it.

2.  How pathetic DOES one’s life have to be if it impels repeated comments to someone who simply deletes them?  Particularly when it’s a complete stranger, someone who’s not in any way associated with your life?

3.  I survived tantrums with my kids.  I’m past that now and don’t need trolls to relive the past.  I am not responsible for teaching a troll how to grow up.  If they’re big enough to write the grown-up words, they’re big enough to get over themselves.

4.  I just plain feel sorry for trolls.  I’m just keeping them on a starvation diet.   Their comments, no matter how long winded, vitriolic or otherwise nasty, ain’t gonna go live, ever.

I’m hurting less tonight – have figured out that a great deal of what’s wrong with my back can be directly attributed to this crummy desk chair at home.  Adding a pillow behind my back, however, makes a huge difference.  So do the chiro treatments and the back rubs from G.

Lately I’m on a Nora Roberts kick.  Paperback romances, yes, but with a little twist.  My last one involved ghosts in Ireland.  The one I’m reading now has heavy suspense leanings (as in murder suspense, not romance suspense.)  I like her stuff because while it’s not exactly fluff, I can still buzz through it pretty fast.  When I sit down with one of her books I can normally finish it off in a day or two, even with my work schedule.  Her style is clear and brisk and I don’t feel the least bit guilty or deprived if I doze off in the middle of a chapter.

Freecycle was nice to me today.  Someone posted one of those little tabletop fountains, which I’ve wanted forever but was too cheap to buy.  When I picked that up I was also offered a 8-light candle holder for the wall.  Even G was impressed with both pieces.  G is a conundrum: he’s Mr. Romance in soooo many ways.  (All except one, which considering how much pain I’ve been in lately has probably been a good thing.)  G thrives on candlelight, holding hands, hugs and kisses, snuggling (BIGTIME on the snuggles) and so on.

The kids picked up the other dinette set so we’ve got a bit more space in the house, too.  I’m talking with a realtor and a financier about the possibilities for buying a house in a few months.  Much as I’d like to make it happen, I think it’s not going to be possible until we rent a bit longer.  Then again, miracles have been known to materialize when you least expect them!

The promotion didn’t happen.  I got blown off without even an interview.  I’m just shrugging it off because let’s face it, everything DOES happen for a reason.  Maybe the money wouldn’t have been there, or something better will open up.  Who knows?  I am just doing my part and trusting God and the Universe to handle the rest.  It’s scary how content I am with the outcome, come to think of it.  There must truly be something better out there, just around the proverbial bend.

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