Iceland is in the North Atlantic. It’s capital city is Reykjavik.
A five year old 19 year old. Lost potato.
My home is in Hobbiton, Hogwarts or mostly in my fancy fantasy.
I love absurdities, (dark) humour, fart jokes and sexual innuendos, especially on late night television. But since regional circumstances don’t allow me to enjoy these on television, I’m dependent on illegal sources.
One day, I’ll move into a cottage in an English-speaking country with a room full of books, an armchair and a fireplace, have a dog, sheeps and peacocks, grow cumquats (ha - see what I did there?) tango, drink wine and eat pralines. Also, this cottage should have a room that has its floor plastered with cushion, its walls consists of loudspeakers and the ceiling is the screen.
Plan B: Buy a shack in the woods, build a subterrestrial weed plantation, gain money, then buy the English cottage.
I like to take my dog out for a walk to immerse in my inner monologues.
moments of extreme fangirling: