Dear My Good Intentions,
Where the fuck are you? You’re all like: “Hey lets not drink beer and go for a run instead after work” during the day then, in the evening, you totally bail one me.
I can’t say I’m not angry, but I’ll give you one more chance. See you tonight.
Yours sincerely,
Myself
Writer from Cambridgeshire (Aspiring). Acerbic assesor of Counterfeit Culture. Occasional Twit. Habitual user of NaNoWriMo. A lover of Nonsense Correspondence . Noter of Notes. Creator ofThe Short Stupid Existence of Prose Darling: A Modern Fable for The Fashionably Late. Please feel free to Correspond.
