I didn't gloat, I swear I did not (while Little Sis got a message from Lori, I got a message from YAHIA), no, I did not GLOAT over that, and yet my punishment came anyway. From both my remaining sisters. I had rejoiced over Little Sis's "message" and added that it arrived on this day -- moreover, it was a MONTH AGO TODAY that Lori died. How special is that, right? Well, BOTH sisters rushed to relieve me of my ignorance (or display theirs, if you want my opinion). Seven days = a week. Four weeks = a month. Lori died on a Monday, four weeks (one month) ago, and the ONLY comment I get from my two remaining sisters is that "It won't be a month until the 13th." I call B.S. on that.
It's another PTSD trigger, or I wouldn't find myself so outraged and so "Shot Down Again" by their petty replies.
But nobody else needs to read this. No need for anyone to comment on it.
Words can be MAGIC, in the hands of poets like Yahia and Owasco, whose words inspire, amuse, reassure, clarify, illuminate, and uplift.
Words can also be slings and arrows, rotten tomatoes and stink bombs.
Long live the poets! Thank you for sharing your words with me.