Blurt

There’s much to be said of the kind of sarcasm that accompanies a dark mood. It’s vile. It’s incisive. And always, always effective.

I’ve been on a roll this morning, dashing off vile, incisive responses on email, which are no doubt going to effectively bankrupt the meagre social-stroke-professional [how sensual and useful, she thought] goodwill I’ve had the mildly-good fortune to earn.

To my punctuation-challenged music director*, who’s been indefinitely stalling work and dodging my calls, but who finally had the decency to respond saying “have already started working will send you something by thursday now cos we got packed with sudden jobs in the middle but i have already started your thing...so ill send it to you when i feel confident about it...”; to him I said, with an involuntary spill of verbiage that skittered off my fingers in a thoughtless little scurry across the keyboard “Shall be praying for your confidence.”

O woe.

And then another*, to whom, with much fondness I sent a list of flattering alliterations, who had the indecent gall to suggest, with unabashed unlettered smugness “i couldn’t find even one allit there u know, all different letters of the alphabets!!!”; to this jewel my fingers involuntarily expectorated “You'd better start paying me for grammar lessons”.

I will not be surprised if I do not receive:
1.) The melody I’ve been awaiting endlessly.
2.) A flattering paean to my literary effort.

Now tell me, how many marks do I get for effectiveness? And [dis]engagement?

***

*Believe me when I say this... I am rather fond of both.