Move.

So.

I used to blog about the single life and my multitude of mistakes, embarrassments and awkwardness in general everyday life. However, now the unspeakable has happened and I have a boyfriend I've realized, that I'm just as bloody socially incompetent as ever.

Girls complain about being single. They complain about their gym fees, to get the perfect body so that someone will want to run their hands over it, the perfect haircut so that that person will put it in a fit of passion, and the perfect outfit that can be slowly teased off and tossed aside on the floor. They complain about nobody loving them.

Let's re-evaluate.

You don't have to shave half as often.You can practically grow a national forest on your body because there's nobody there to scrutinize it and judge you for feeling like a hairy Christmas Jumper. You can wear the same outfit on the three dates you'll go on this week because you know it looks good and not have to panic when you have nothing to wear. You can go out without makeup on because nobody will care, and you won't feel the stares that scream, " WHAT is he doing with her?"  You don't have the aching feeling when they leave and you know you won't see them for another week because they live an hour away.  You don't have to spend millions on Ann Summers underwear, which might make your boobs look amazing, but also makes you feel like you are being squeezed by an anaconda. You also get the benefit of having a normal sleeping pattern, you don't reach out at night and wake up to realise they aren't there.

QUIT COMPLAINING.

However, I have to admit. Being this happy is pretty damn good. My friends may hate me and the permanently etched smile on my face and I might sing along to songs on the radio a little louder but I think having somebody pull you back into centre is well worth it.

 So I'll take the loss of earnings to razors, underwear  and foundation, because really I know that I could turn up in trackies, with a pineapple on my head, my translucent skin on display and he'd still be there to take my hand and tell me I'm beautiful the way I am.

He'd be a liar though. Obviously.

But seriously, just go. Get Set.

English Rain

I graduated from Winchester uni this week, I'd only been there a year for my PGCE year, but i'm actually really going to miss the place.

 I'm going to miss the Learning Cafe and the struggle to find a space, and the calls of the coffee bar workers who scream out "PANINI "every 5 minutes. I'm going to miss the library staff, who really  I pity because their job is to basically suck the fun out of everybody's attempts to remain positive in a place that makes Azkaban look homely. I'm even going to miss the lecturers who blatantly hated me and my incessant need to talk through their classes and send me warning emails about my behaviour.

I had the best year there, but this transition terrifies me.

I am now an adult. In an adult job, with adult pay with a lot of  adult responsibilities.

 I also now have a boyfriend; he gives me butterflies with a glance, is the most caring person I've ever met and still finds me attractive without makeup on at 6am. Somehow, and I don't know exactly why, he wants to be with me. and I have suggested he undergoes a psychiatric evaluation just to ensure he isn't criminally insane. Either that or he needs a trip to Specsavers. We've booked to go to Ireland over New Year and now I'm actually acting my age instead of living like I'm still eighteen with all the time in the world. (I say this and I went into a sofa shop the other weekend with him, to pretend to be buying a sofa just so we could test which one we liked best. He is such a babe.)

Can I have Bernard's watch and just freeze time? Everything seems a little too perfect and centered; it's like I'm sat on the front porch, waiting for the hurricane to arrive and cause havoc.

Lover's Eyes

It happened. I am no longer a cat lady.

I am one of those 'sets her background to her bf', people.
One of those people who don't mind other couples kissing or being happy in public.
 I don't even squirm when he holds my hand.
I don't get butterflies, more like gigantic moths
I smile at the at the most ridiculous things and find the most inane things hilarious and think to myself 'I must remember to show him that'
It's disgusting how happy I am, and yet, the world spins madly on.