The Best Of Intentions

“The road outside my house is paved with good intentions…”

-Fall Out Boy (Hum Hallelujah)

My intention has always been to update this blog at least once a week. And I apologise for the fact that I haven’t been doing so lately. It’s not that I don’t want to update you, guys.

I’ve just been incredibly busy. And now I’ll explain why…

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Them’s The Breaks & Christmas Plans

It’s been a strange week, not least because my other half, Mr Bear, ended up staying home to work for three days after catching his foot against the door in the middle of the night. We think he’s either broken or seriously injured his toe. A call to the NHS helpline meant he’s had it strapped up and been unable to walk on it for a few days.

Of course, this almost nixed our plans to use my first Saturday off in ages to visit the York Christmas market. In the end, we did end up going, but Howard Bear’s foot was still quite achy and we didn’t stay as long as we possibly would have liked.

However, it was absolutely belting it down with rain, so I’m partly glad we didn’t stay that long and went, instead, to find somewhere warm to dry off and eat.

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Partying, Working, No Writing & Relax

Bear and I spent an entire day together on Monday, which was lovely, if tiring. After being on so many long days and late nights at work, however, it was a welcome change. We had a wander around town, bought a couple of bits and then we had a cheap and cheerful dinner at our local Wetherspoons.

It wasn’t the greatest meal ever, but it was made perfect by being able to spend it with this man (isn’t he so handsome? ;P)

He probably won’t appreciate me putting his face on the internet, but sometimes his face is too cute not to share with everybody. It also helps me get through some days when I get to see his face. And this past week has been one of those weeks.

Summer has hit us at work with full force. We are busy and then some.

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Flash Fiction No. 88

#flashfiction

Disregard & Rebellion

I lay on one of the great grey banks of sand. Wasteland stretched out before me in a milky haze of monochrome. Free breath washed over my face, a light wind void of stale exhale and sweat.

It was the first time I’d ventured free of the town since it happened.

Sand dusted my skin and scratches tickled by the wind. My flesh was worn down, destroyed, torn loose of daring delusions. I imagined his hand on my arm but it was as good as the touch of a ghost, incidental and ethereal.

Thoughts of him no longer soothe me. He is the reason for my pain.

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