I stared in the mirror. I had never seen eyes as cruel as the ones that returned fire. What had happened to me? I was falling apart. I could handle that. But my marriage? That was precious. I would not allow my marriage to fall apart. It was time to buy myself a bouquet of dead flowers. I was moving on.
During my first 52-week book project I read The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. This is what I wrote:
“This book is utterly brilliant. Steven Pressfield is one of the most captivating writers that I have ever had the fortune to read. There were many times that I was compelled to tears and yet I don’t think it is a book that should make you cry. That is the power of this man’s authentic writing.”
The magical floating city of Venice is the most beautiful place my eyes have ever cast upon. The architecture and waterways are so intriguing and aesthetically pleasing to the eye, that you can just get lost in the city and be mesmerised by the surrounding beauty. But apart from the majesty and beauty of the place, there is a darker side to Marco Polo’s hometown – abhorrent customer service! If you are not careful the customer service can start to eat away at your wondrous experience. In order to make sure that doesn’t happen, please learn from my mistakes and remember…
My first ever blog was called God The Chingster Can Moan. Not only did I enjoy writing about moaning but I also realised that people liked to read about it. It seems everybody loves a good old-fashioned whine. As we saunter through life we become hard-wired by certain influences in society, namely our mentors. I grew up in your archetypical working class environment known as the council estate. Nobody had anything, and everybody liked to complain about everything that they didn’t have. It seems that feeling sorry for yourself is a lot easier than feeling proud of yourself. Negativity comes easier than positivity. So you go through life thinking that everybody owes you something, like Veruca Salt waiting for the golden egg to drop on your lap.