For all my rampant opinionation, I'm a pacific person. My self-image, which owes a lot to the days when I was fatter, is of a clumsy humpback whale gliding through the ocean, dum dee dum dee dum, mmmmm krill krill krill, dum dee dum, oops, capsized a boat of tourists, dum dee dum, and I reckon I swallowed a dolphin with that last mouthful of krill, shit, dum dee dum. By which I mean to say I know I've hurt a lot of people by accident or due to personal insecurities that engendered some pretty damaging behaviour, but I've rarely attacked anyone in anger.
Before I continue and while I have whales on the brain, I really have to recommend Walking With Beasts (outside of Kenneth Branagh's narration - the world wouldn't have lost much if his vocal cords had been surgically removed after filming the St. Crispin's Day speech in Henry V - ever since that admittedly goosepimply and inspirational bit of celluloid moment he's just sounded like a ponce to me), particularly the episode with the giant carnivorous whales. Get high and imagine if the Japanese would be so anxious to get back to whaling if those massive nasty motherfuckers were sharing the ocean with them. "I know, let's all get on a boat and go shoot at Godzilla." Yeah. It'd be great. Anyways.
My point was that when I get angry, which I do lots, I try to deal with being angry in a non-angry way, which usually works. So it pisses me off when friends make me angry because if we're close enough I can't deal with my anger in a non-angry way, as they tend to notice I'm angry. Thing is, my opinionation is getting more rampant as I age and now some friends are starting to blow my gaskets through - oh fuck, here it goes - the revelation of ongoing behaviour I think is immoral. But who am I to judge their morality, they may say, and then I'll say fuck you, I'm Mistress La Spliffe, and before you know it there's a blow up between me and very dear friends whose ferocity outstrips anything I've approached when dealing with all the cunts who I don't like that litter this naughty world.
I guess my point is that you shouldn't tell me about your naughty behaviour until you've decided to stop it. And that if you'd rather I participated in some sort of rationalization with you instead of bitching you out, well, no. There's a whole industry of mental health professionals you can hire for that. But I'll confess, sometimes I worry I'll run out of couches to crash on if this opinionation drive continues.