I’m taking a little holiday!!

I’m leaving in the middle of the night to jet to Budapest for the weekend. Of course, my trip won’t be anywhere near as stylish as this blog post, but a girl can dream.

I’m going with a girlfriend and we’re planning on relaxing at the Hungarian baths, drinking hot chocolate in ridiculously ornate cafés, lunching at a Michelin star restaurant on Saturday and looking hipster in the ‘ruin bars’. I’m excited! Especially since I bought a new leopard print coat to wear around the city and pretend I’m chic!

But first I’m heading to the Christmas market in Belfast for a bratwurst with my dad, who leaves tomorrow to work abroad for 6 weeks. I’m not feeling particularly festive this year but I’m always in the mood for any kind of hot dog (not so chic…)!




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Meā Culpā

That was me, at half 7 this morning. Except I was looking considerably more disheveled, still not fully recovered from Sunday’s hangover. Why oh why does Monday always come around so damn quickly? I’d have pulled a sickie if I hadn’t already taken so much time off ‘sick’ lately – I’ve missed 3 weeks of work altogether over the break up and I was tempted to just quit completely. I’m still tempted now, sitting in my horrible little office, typing numbers into a computer, imagining what I could be doing at home instead… Yoga, brunch, a long walk in the sun, enjoying some tea and flicking through the pages of Vogue… Of course in real life I’d just be in bed because I’m a self-confessed lazy bitch. I’d still have tea though.

This (picture me scanning over my dusty desk with piles of paperwork) is not how I pictured my future during the years spent writing essays at the last minute and stress eating over exams for my A Levels and French degree. But, meā culpā. I’m too lazy to figure out what I actually want to do for a living and to tell the truth, after 6 months of unemployment upon graduating, I felt lucky to get an office job! Some friends even envy my handy little 9-5 (actually 8-4.30, and we finish at 2 on Fridays!). I get weekends off and I never have to do overtime; I like my colleagues and I get to skive most days (I’m typing this up in between doing paperwork right now and plan to do my shopping on Tesco online later). But who is really satisfied being an office monkey?

It didn’t bother me so much before the break up. Before I met him I had planned to move abroad after uni. I say ‘planned’… I hadn’t really planned anything at all – I just thought I’d figure it out. Story of my life. Alas, my heart had different ideas… I fell for him, hard and fast, madly and deeply; and he couldn’t come away with me, so I had no choice but to stay. The heart wants what it wants and all that. We had talked about moving to the mainland or possibly France in a few years, so I guess I used that as an excuse to stay in this job. It was just the easy option – it paid the rent and I looked forward to spending my evenings and Saturdays with himBut now, there’s nothing really keeping me here, and there are certainly more job opportunities elsewhere. “No reason to stay is the best reason to leave.”

However, even if I do decide to go somewhere new, I’ll still need to take some funds with me. Living back with my parents has given me a chance to save a little (I still pay them ‘keep’ every week, although they never asked I think they’ve supported me and my brothers for long enough!), but honestly I’ve been skint ever since I left uni! So, yes, I finally have a chance to save, but it’s also a chance to spend. And every girl deserves a bit of retail therapy after having their heart broken, right? (I’d probably be much better off spending the money on actual therapy!)

I suppose I’m a little overwhelmed with having so many options right now. Maybe I’ll take the easy route again… Forget about being independent, marry rich, and spend Monday mornings eating pancakes in my dressing gown, instead of racing into work (’cause I’m running late yet again), trying to ignore the unhealthy noises coming from my car and using the rear view mirror to do my mascara…

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Hobbies include napping and daydreaming…

My list of hobbies/favourite things used to look more like this:

  1. Eating in fancy restaurants
  2. Visiting the museum
  3. Shopping
  4. Frequent trips to Paris
  5. Nights in with wine & cheese
  6. Trips to the zoo
  7. Watching UFC
  8. Going for sushi
  9. Star gazing
  10. Dreaming about my future…

Since the break up I’m struggling to find joy in any of these things. See, we were so in love with each other and seemingly so compatible that all of my favourite things and all of his favourite things became our favourite things! He was even my favourite shopping companion! Can you believe that? How lucky I was to find a man who enjoyed shopping ?

I’m mad at myself for letting him become so integral to things that were once mine. Sushi for example. It’s been my favourite food since the first time I had it on holiday when I was around 12 years old. Sakura in Belfast is my favourite restaurant and I used to go once a week (when I could afford it – thank you, student loan). He had never tried sushi before he met me but of course, he loved it (who doesn’t?) and then we visited Sakura almost weekly. It just doesn’t seem as fun to go without him. There’s nobody else who won’t judge me/be mildly disgusted at how much I eat (not even an exaggeration).

We both have a passion for food and fine dining and our favourite way to spend a night together was with wine, cheese and charcuterie. I have a friend who I can do this with but it’s impossible not to think of him at the same time.

I desperately wanted to text him the other night to remind him about the Perseid meteor shower (astronomy was another interest of ours) and I’ve had to forget all about my trip to Paris in October because despite the fact that I’ve been going frequently from age 13 and was lucky enough to spend a year living there (alone), since he surprised me one Christmas with a trip for the two of us, even Paris became ours. 

I’ve been in Paris with many, many different people. Family, friends, ex boyfriends… But no matter how much they loved it (and some of them didn’t), nobody ever seemed to belong there just as much as I did. Paris was fundamentally mine. But the minute he climbed the steps out of a metro station on rue St. Germain, he fell in love. He adored everything I showed him, everywhere I took him. He didn’t tire of the metro or even the bum living outside our hotel who had a habit of walking around with his trousers around his ankles. He wasn’t put off by the rats on our midnight walk by the Seine and he didn’t even curse the staircase leading to Sacre Coeur. We had the most perfect holiday and despite all my time spent there sans mon amant, my best memories of Paris are from that trip. After looking at the city with love in his eyes he told me ‘I feel like I know you better now’. It was SO fucking romantic!

To be honest, I can’t really regret it. Sharing all of ourselves with each other was the big love that I’ve always wanted. Friends seemed envious of how well we spent our time together and he made the simplest of things so romantic. He came into my life like a perfect storm and made a mess of me with all this happiness I struggle so much to hold on to. I don’t want to give up my favourite things but for the time being it hurts me to do them without him.

I hope the day comes where the memories make me smile rather than cry but in the mean time I need to make some new memories for myself. This is inconvenient when you’re as lazy and introverted as I am so for now my hobbies mainly include napping at every given opportunity, daydreaming that he realises his mistake and begs me to take him back and blogging about it, I guess!

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Going solo

I NEED a holiday.

Not want, need. I need to get away from all the things that remind me of everything I’ve lost this year (much more than just a relationship, but we’ll not get into that). I need to get away from my parents (I’m sorry – I love you both dearly but living at home again is trying, to say the least!). And I need to get away from people who know me. Deleting my Facebook account only made people more interested in my business, asking what’s wrong, where I’ve been, is everything ok… They mean well, of course. They just can’t take a fucking hint.

However, any travel companions I would have considered all have holidays booked already and no extra cash or time off work to book another trip with lonely old me. Thing is, I actually used to love travelling on my own! Quietly people watching in the airport, wondering who’s watching me back, drinking a cup of coffee, reading vogue, trying to give off to others the air of being an international jet setter. Oh, you’re travelling with a friend? Excited for your trip? How cute… I’m just flying to Paris for business, no big deal *glamorous hair flick* (these are just my inner dialogues btw, I’m not really that much of a dick). Before the break up I was already contemplating taking a solo city break while he was off partying with his friends in Ibiza. But of course now that going solo is imposed upon me, it isn’t so appealing anymore. It was different when you knew there would be two arms waiting to wrap themselves around you when you came home. That somebody would be missing you, excited to hear about your trip.

I’m in two minds about it (as I am about almost everything due to my paradoxical nature). Will holidaying alone break me once more? Will it be an overwhelming realisation of how alone I am and how much I miss my lover, my best friend? Will I be too anxious to even enjoy myself? Or is it just what I need to give me back a sense of autonomy? To prove to myself that I can do this alone, I will thrive without him, even just to prove to him what a bad ass, boss bitch he lost (this is how I imagine myself, strutting around cosmopolitan cities toute seule)?

My brain says it’s the smart thing to do, but that little depressed devil on my shoulder says I shouldn’t risk it. Honestly, I have a similar debate over so many things everyday and that little voice gets it’s way far too often. I have a huge list of things I know I should be doing to be happier, healthier, more successful, but I always put it off until tomorrow and, as it goes, tomorrow is yet to come. I’ve been told I give great advice but I certainly can’t take it. I could be a professional hypocrite (that has to be a job, right? I mean the Kardashians get paid for doing less).

It seems my heart and mind are constantly at war with each other. However, while my poor heart is on the mend I suppose it’s time I put this brain to use (it used to be quite good, from what I remember).

So does anybody know how to get cheap flights to Vegas?

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