Slap My Ass and Call Me a Romantic

Fuck. I love swearing. I love laughing ‘til my stomach hurts. I love pasta. I love sleeping in a car as rain hits the windshield. I love McDonalds. I love peace and quiet. I love really messy raves. I love group hangovers post messy rave.

Another thing I bloody love is romantic ideals. Peeling off my rain mac after a long-wet walk. Magnificent. The warm fuzzy feeling of home. Glorious. The sexual tension between me and that glass of deep red wine in front of a blazing log fire. Orgasmic.

Cosy evenings.

Fuck, do I love a cozy evening.

A ‘romantic’ can be characterised by having their emphasis on feelings and contentment rather than order and form. Focus on the sublime, supernatural and free expression of passions. Part of me is YES YES YES, another part rolls her eyes and tells me to ‘get real.’

The romantic in me is head-strong at the moment going into this trip, but you know what, miss control-freak is very welcome to come too (she’s good at organising so is pretty useful).

It’s going to be a glass of red and peeling my mac off all wrapped up into one. Because I’m going to get soaked, I’m going to drink several glasses of red wine, and I’m going to be so tired but it’s going to be worth it.

I’m boarding the ferry today. My possessions are either sold or packed and I am so fucking excited. To be honest the initial two days at sea with limited internet, a good book and my notebook feels like I’m stepping into a slice of heaven.


See you in Espana.

Oh, and one last things lads:

Don’t be ashamed for feeling the good stuff when you also struggle with the bad. Just because you have joys in life doesn’t make your negative emotions any less valid. Enjoy the good, navigate the bad. Just allow yourself to feel both.

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