"...makes me want to slap your face."

I've refrained, up til now from sharing the latest He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Drama. On one hand? It's embarassing, frankly, to admit I've continued to allow this utter B.S. On another hand, I'm afraid. I am afraid of many things, and, unfortunately, he is one of them. It's definitely not for the reasons he thinks. And as for now, I've gained additional grounds for apprehension. Greaaaaat.

So, onto that third hand I'm looking to acquire? I don't care. When I click that 'Publish Post' button, I am fully aware that yes, this is the Internet, and no, I do not have the settings such where only invited readers can view these pages. I've never attempted to conceal that fact that I communicate more clearly in written rather than spoken form, nor am I going to hide its proof. My dream is to find someone who can appreciate this (as opposed to the typical condemnation). I can try my best to make accomodations, but I can't promise change. I can only promise a valiant effort.

Voldemort wishes I would "change." Sadly, he doesn't seem to have the slightest clue as to what needs changing. In another turn of psycho-stalkerness, he composed a doozy of an e-mail message and sent it to an e-mail address which he had somehow hunted down and determined to be that of The Boy Who Lived. I was appalled that any acquaintance of mine would have to suffer through the receipt of that piece of work.

Thank goodness for friends. This is the reply I got from the ever-so-lucky recipient of Voldemort's nastiness: That's ok Jacinda. This proves that he is a major loser and probably suffers from some sort of mental problem let alone self esteem issues. I know what type of person you are. and that is a beautiful, intelligent woman. Take care Jacinda. I hope you are doing well. I am grateful for that friend, and also to Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood. Both are divorced single moms. Hermione has two, and Luna has three in her home. Hermione and I exchange stories of jealous exes on a near-daily basis, to the tune of a basket-full of laughs. In the meantime, the press is hereby censored from further ramblings pending consultation with The Boy Who Lived.