Ah, my good, loving, loyal, knife wielding friends. You think I haven't felt the pricks of your blades piercing my back because we haven't seen each other or maybe because you think that I'm a bit thick in the head.
Oh but I have.
I have felt every single one of them and have spent the past weekend disinfecting and bandaging the wounds and wondering to myself why you would do such a thing if you were supposed to be my "friend."
I just didn't realize that I was in a bull fight and one of you had merely sent in your picadors to weaken me before you delivered your mighty blow.
And I felt it.
And it hurt. A lot.
But...it did not kill me. If anything it's made me stronger and more willing to fight -- but on my terms.
So, to all of my "friends" out (and yes, I do know who you are), please be afraid. Be very afraid. As some can tell you, my counter attacks can be pretty intense and cut you to the quick much harder than you ever thought you cut me.
And to the one that went for the death kill (and yes, I do know who you are as well), you missed the target entirely. The sad part is that you probably don't watch your back enough when you really should. You waste all of your energy on one strong hit and expect that to do all of your work for you but it expends so much that you're left not really able to defend yourself and you wind up looking more like a moron than anything else.
So bring it.
Whatever you have, just bring it.
No, I didn't say "bring it on." It's always going to be on.
Just bring it. To my face. Don't be a pussy and go behind my back again. Only cowards take that route.
To. My. Face. That is, if you're man enough. Or at least think you are.
You may cut me down for a second but I come back with a vengeance. You'll never know when. You'll never know where. But I always come back.