Someone, somewhere... is feeling his ears burning, as the tirade continues. Angry, mad, I can't seem to stop. My voice gets louder and louder. I am angry, damn angry. But the next day when I settle down I have to ask myself why am I even surprised.
I mean isn't this the reason why I knew that when I got back to work that I couldn't do things the way I had done it before? Isn't this the reason that the longer we were publishing the shorter and shorter our author list got? As every year that passed, only to discover once again that here was one more instructor, one more expert that said all the right things... but...
Yesterday I was bristling with righteous anger like a prickly hedgehog not caring who got stabbed as I ranted and raved.
And today...
Today I am just tired. I am so tired.
Weary that once again that someone I had admired for over thirty years as being truly brilliant, someone I actively promoted through the pages of the magazine, was just a liar.
A snake oil salesman.
No better than the tailor from the story of the Emperor's New Clothes.
Harsh? Perhaps. I think there are still vestiges of anger buried under that layer of being sad.
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