(What is the game of 'seven words'? See this entry for explanations, or to contribute potential words.)
They resist sticks, stones, brandished bones, and - in the earliest of hours when no one is looking - abject pleading and begging. They, the disenchanted teenage brood, resent that it was I - silly, bumbling fool, I - who brought them into existence, and blame me for all their problems.They hurl insults when angered. Technical terms are spat like curse words through the browser, because they know I feel the sting.
It has been seven days since the Battle For Manage-Pings began in northeast Alabama, and I must report that the carnage has been intense. Burned dinners. Insomnia. Ignored cats. Friends who resort to emails in the hopes of actually making contact with my brain.