Plastic People

Within the past month or so I have had to deal with so many fake people, you know the kind of person who talks shit behind your back and then to your face they go on about how awesome you are and they just act so plastic.

Now, as far as I know these people haven’t‘ been plastic to me. Of course when folks go on and on to me about how awesome and amazing I am, well I get suspicious of their motives.  So whenever someone ‘pumps me up’ like that I don’t really believe what they are saying, but I happen to know that these couple of people are actually taking what the person says to them at face value and they are thinking that this plastic person loves them and they are doing so much for this person and in return this person is running around telling people, basically anyone that will listen, all these horrible things that really aren’t even completely true, but people are believing it.
Then there are the plastic people that are being so cheery and chummy to this other girl who is being made to do things that she’s not comfortable with, but they are at work so she has to do it.  And then these plastic people come up and are all Barbie-dollish with their fake, over the top plastic smiles and their oh so cheery comments about how great a job she’s doing and how wonderful it is for her to be able to be doing the job she’s doing, and they know she hates it.  They are basically slapping her across the face.
These people are sickening me, and it feels like I’ve been hit in the stomach whenever I’m near all this fakeness, or when I hear about it, or see it first hand, and I just want to slap these people across the face and scream from the rafters about how fake they are and all the lies and venom that they are spreading.
I’m so done with it all.  Finished.  I’ll never blow the whistle on these people, because it would hurt the person who believes in all their lies.  But I can’t look at them or listen anymore because I just may snap!
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About katastrophes1

Kat is a 20 something girl stuck in a 40 something body. Mom to 3 kids, tormented and amused by 3 crazy dogs. Amateur photographer, self taught crochet junkie. Thinker of crazy thoughts. Where do they come from? Who knows where thoughts occur, they just happen!
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