Yay! I’ve reached the 100th post point. *pulls party poppers* Let’s celebrate!
Now, I had no idea what to do for this post and different bloggers have different takes on the celebration.
Anyways, firstly I’ll do some important things: I’d like to thank Jae at Lit and Scribbles, for encouraging me to post more than twice a week and being an avid commenter!
Thanks to Miriam Joy for being inspiring in her own posts. Thanks to UponAtlas for getting me to grips with WordPress!
And thanks to ThatFantasyBlog. Without them, I would never have been convinced to actually start a blog!
Surprise hits of the blog:
- Tips to cool down mobile phones (probably because it’s searched a lot)
- Bionics and me
- Five reasons to hate curly hair (I don’t, not really!)
- My amateur photography of the world around me:
And whilst I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve posted, the easiest things to write about were the Psychology and Philosophy ideas that have come to me in one lump (though maybe they’re not the easiest things to read). I’m opening up the comments here to suggestions of what I should write (more?) about. What do you think I should talk about in my next a hundred posts? Ice-skating? Latin? Guitar, drums and vocal work?
Or just more of the same?
*puts on intelligent-looking party hat!*
And, after all that, I’m posting an extract from the new chapter of Triangle I am writing.
Lucas shook the tears out of his eyes. He hadn’t dreamt that colourless memoir in ages. It was a little shocking to find himself back in his bed, an adult and free from the capture that had ensnared his unconscious self. His cardboard box stash of odds and ends from his Redshire flat protruded from the space next to his bed. Still there, with its held memories looming, it was sitting. No more. Lucas squeezed his eyes closed. No, he didn’t want to be awake nor asleep.
“I’m safe,” he whispered aloud. “I am loved by God and by a wonderful woman. Nobody can hurt me.”
Still, Lucas felt sick wiping the sweat from his brow.
The bedclothes almost strangled him; he thrust them away from his throat only to find himself facing the blank walls that taunted him, dizzied him. Lucas reached for his glasses.
With the heavy blanket throttling him no longer, Lucas attempted to jump out of bed with a mind of happiness. It wasn’t going to happen. Not today. Not when Léa had shed tears on his shoulder over a man who had almost taken a hand to Andrea.
When he shot his digital alarm-clock a look, the digital display blurred on command. It was ‘never early enough’.
Almost without realising it, he then twitched the lampshade straight so its depicted sun faced the way of the compass plastered to his wall. He drew his hand back to let it hand in the mid-air. One, two, three. Lucas lowered his hand and walked steadily away. Habit. It was his entire life’s weakness.
The swift sounds of crockery being moved about downstairs snatched his attention away from the detention of the interior of his space. Andrea: he’d done everything for her. In her rights as a Psychologist, she could offer treatment. In her role as a girlfriend, she should have presented her case and left well alone.
“Yet, it is the ones we love the most who break and beat our hearts,” he muttered, rifling through his clothes to no amusement.
He had gone to confession the previous evening, spending his moments pouring out the truth of his fears and his memories. He had spent many minutes staring at the Blessed Sacrament, pondering which move to make next. Lucas wouldn’t push Andrea away just for his own sake, but humiliation left a hole in his decision.
Thank you for popping along and taking an interest in my ramblings! 😀