Sunday evening blues

Seven stages of grief. Or is it twelve? Who knows. I'm going through anger at the moment. Fuck you Fiona. If you fucked your husband a bit more often maybe he wouldn't have started speaking to me. Fuck you. Just fuck you.

Lovely summer day

I'm lying here in the gorgeous sunshine and normally I'd feel incredibly content with life, feeling the sun baking my skin, listening to music. But I'm not sure there is much to be content about.  Three years of my life. What opportunities have I missed? Would I have tried harder at internet dating? Gone out more? Perhaps had a proper relationship?

Knowing me probably not but still. I'm almost 33 and what do I have? Fuck all. My life is fucked up and I blame you for not being able to keep it in your fucking pants. Why the fuck did you start talking to me? You fucked up not only three years of my life but you have mentally fucked me over for life.

I will never trust any man. But you? You will go back to your perfect fucking family and it'll be like I was never part of your life. Wonderful. Just fucking marvellous.

Hope it was worth it for you. Fuck you Julian. Just fuck you.