Of Custard Puffs And Previews

Yet another week and yet more exhaustion. So that explains why yours truly stuffed her face with custard puffs.

Had a charcoal puff from Proofer yesterday

And this nicely sweet one from Beard Papa

And here's a quick preview for a story I hope to post soon.

Regret.

Was that the name of the sharp pain fading into a dull burn and an indescribable ache that sat in my gut?

I could almost see the inscription on the headstone: XXXX, (1974-2017), Beloved Husband and Father. Of course, Willa would probably replace the “Beloved” with “Asshole” or “Jackass” or whatever descriptive that seemed appropriate. That is if she got away with murder. My murder. Or my death. Semantics was the least of my concerns right now. 

A dark shadow. At least that was what it looked like to my rapidly blurring vision. It was that azure blue of her irises that told me it was my loving wife who now loomed over me. She looked like an avenging angel. She probably was one. Great, so till the end, I was the fallen one. Lucifer, about to be slain by the sword of good. Somewhere in the beyond, Catherine Dubois, the Sunday school teacher who had warned my mother of my “inherent wickedness”, was chuckling. 

For why I decided to pre-pone / accelerate this one,  see http://eroftasy.blogspot.com/2017/03/reaction-to-vitriolic-response_19.html and http://judithloewe.blogspot.com/2017/03/exhausting-but-fun.html.

Have fun!