He lives local.
Which is kinda nice in the “we’ll get back together eventually fantasy”. But everyone. Including my Gran. Has told me this is never, ever, ever, gonna happen. They think they’re being helpful. I think they are pessimists.
Him living nearby is not such a good thing now that my breakup haircut has gone frizzy enough for local wildlife to nest in.
If I bump into Richard in the next, hmmmm, lets say 18 months, I will have to dive under the nearest park bench, static piece of foliage, or moving vehicle. Looking on the bright side at least I know the bad hair did not cause the break up.
A blackbird has just paused outside my kitchen window. And I’m sure he was looking covetously at my hair. My head officially resembles a bird’s home. Marvellous.
This week has to get better! Big love Evie XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXx
Hmmm, how about he’s my Ex. When I’d probably still rather wish he wasn’t.
The trouble is I’ve still not mustered up the self esteem, or sanity, to hate him yet. Which at the moment would be very helpful.
It would at least potentially stop me from eating so many bloody crisps all the time. And I’ve started on the Christmas After Eights already.
I’ve written this blog under a pseudonym. But I’ve used his surname. Well he used to tell me it’d be my name one day!
Is that unhinged? Answers on a postcard.