Generally, tolerance is the order of the day. The “right thing”, determined in fairness, is my objective. Regrettably, I am a human riddled with flaws. My unruly secret self designs elaborate plots, diabolical revenges, and spiteful, mean actions. They are subtle, psychologically inspired, creative maneuvers. My preferred m.o. is a tangible memento, a little keepsake the recipient can have the tactile pleasure of grasping whilst they absorb the cruel but accurate character assassination I have penned. It takes a lot to motivate writing so personally critical. It is the result of complete exasperation and failure to reach accord. Each missive I have mailed bears my signature. I am not ashamed of my observations of another’s bad behavior. My hope has always been that bad behavior will be acknowledged and corrected so that we can all live in peace. Typically, the correspondence is in defence of another person unable to protect themselves.
For nearly two decades, I have witnessed behavior so bad that it defies explanation. No amount of conversation, gentle guidance or consistent example will correct it. The colossal narcissism sacrifices all others obstructing the way to its barren destination. I have words to mail that will linger for a long time. The initial impact will be ego shattering. I intend to do harm; I intend to hurt feelings, to cause a great rupture and bring about teeth gnashing torment and tears. It is a plan that is positively delicious, a form of justice so sweet that I can practically feel the gleeful satiation of another’s just deserts. It will not be effective if I sign it.
The major flaw in this retaliatory masterpiece is the person, whose score I hope to settle, could be inadvertently hurt. A kind, decent, generous being could be tragically injured as the result of my clever justice, which would not be clever at all.