Getting robbed in Madrid

I kinda knew I had it coming. Everyone around me has had phones, wallets and passports stolen, and I guess I kinda felt left out. That’s obviously not true, but I thought it would make me feel better. It didn’t.

Here are some positives about getting my phone stolen, and why I don’t care. Really, I don’t. Really.

  1. Last night I slept through the whole night! No phone to pick up at 4am to check what’s happening on the interwebs. No facebooks, no whatsapps and no instagrams. Just pure, regular insomnia with no excuses. 
  2. It’s one less item to carry in my oversized bag. Which, by the way, I bought recently at ese o ese and I love her so much I have assigned her a gender. My favourite gender.
  3. I keep feeling the need to check something, then realise I don’t have to check anything. Box ticked. Back to doing absolutely nothing.
  4. I have just rid myself of phone numbers belonging to many people (chicos) I never really liked in the first place. Adios, José, Álvaro, Alberto, Enrique etc etc. You’re now all vague, drunken memories.
  5. I no longer have to search in my bag to find my phone after it vibrates, only to find out it’s alerting me that I need to download the latest version of Android gofuckyourself™. After updating it yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.

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