3 bottles of cheap wine
Half a dozen cans of beer
1 goldfish bowl of bad decisions
3 tbsp self doubt
3 ounces of dutch courage
My brain is a saboteur. Working against itself to cause distress and unhappiness. My brain is like the worst spy in the world. Instead of James Bond-ing around and destroying its enemies (I guess unhappiness and anxiety are Dr No and Blofeld in this analogy*) it is sat in the corner of a small room second-guessing its every move and reporting back to M (that would be me) that all is hopeless and I might as well give up now.
Thanks brain! Dickhead.
When they said she was stubborn they had no idea how true that would be. Once Mary got an idea in her head she would not let go, like a sloth hanging from a branch she would not budge.
It had got her into trouble plenty of times, the time she learnt about boxing and promptly punched a classmate in the face maybe hadn’t been her best use of her tenacious application of knowledge but it certainly stopped him from looking down her top so she wasn’t too bothered.
“I think I’m lost.” I muttered to myself as I turned right, for the third time. Someone, at some point, had said you had to follow the right-hand path of a maze to get to the middle. Or maybe it was the left. Shit.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t enjoying myself, but I had lost all of the people I had been walking with and had been stumbling around lost for at least 10 minutes without seeing anyone I recognised.
Tales written from a prompt in just 10 minutes.
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