I write these blogs to myself. Well, I do for the most part. I do get a little excited when I get views from a .ru site. I'm a fan of Russia, and I love Putin now. I've learned not to get my hopes up. Most of that stuff is porn. I clicked it once in error, but I can pretend.
I know that I was not very mature in my early twenties. I'm not saying I am all knowing now, but I was blinded by many things. I don't like how Putin rushed in and made a mess of all I had. He's way above me, and his influence has meaning. I know to him I'm a housefly by his coffee. I'm annoying. I want the settlement and house after taxes, so I can have something, too. I've been taken out of the game, and I'll never recover from those blows.
You didn't have to make it worse, Putin. I needed time to develop.
The real. The static. The nothing.
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