It was ironic

I just wrote you the longest letter – it was about irony, I was telling you a little about it.  It was at least a 500 word essay; what happened then, and then and there yesterday, and how it happened again today, and how a white plastic bag just went flying by; they terrify Dolly, she barks at them incessantly when they land against the fence.  I've decided to claim that its a ghost — silly thing anyway.  I don't even know what its about, such as living a life, one after the other and on and on. I ignore it usually because it goes on constantly.  It’s scary sometimes, you know, you're the first thing I see, and then, and then, and only and exactly then… something like this happens and it freaks me out because it reminds me you're thinking - what the hell is this woman doing?  Well charlie horsey, back to the letter I wrote, something so bluntly put, and then just passed off as the gathering of flower pelts in shades of pastel pinks and crimson.  But I suppose it doesn't matter now though does it? After all was said and done I got kicked off the internet and lost every word.  I was so mad; I started laughing.  Life is one of the most interesting things I've ever seen. It was ironic, but it almost made sense.