My mum and my dad felt that they weren’t ready to go through another pregnancy so soon, so Mum terminated it. In 1992, Mum and Dad did feel that they were ready, and so I was born.
I think libraries should terrify those of us who wade about in politics. A library collates the stories of all our great fuck-ups and displays them next to thousands of truths we don’t have time to learn. A library is a snigger: Think we did bad last time? Well how’re you gonna do any better when there is still so much you do not know?
No one warned me that on a bus ride home from a temp job, out of the blue, I would be struck with a panic attack. The surface was fractured; and beneath bubbled a deeper and darker sea of anxiety than ever existed while I was a student.
It’s up to staff to smile politely while holding in bitterness, working wonders for their mental health.
Having witnessed them performing the behaviour they are reproaching, we become uncomfortable and even angry with the glaring inequity of their judgement.
The Sorting Hat opens its mouth, and weeks and months and YEARS of great chat follow. “Karen, you are such a Slytherin!” “As if, Karen! I am totally a Gryffindor. I’m basically Hermione Granger.” “Then again, Karen, you’re pretty smart. You could be a Ravenclaw.” You know what I mean. You’ve heard it before. You are Karen. (We are all Karen.)
17-year-olds don’t hear any of this. 17-year-olds are conditioned into thinking of first-year as 12 months of partying and self-discovery, of one last gasp of reckless youth before it all slips away. University appears to be both the most responsible and most fun option.
To date, I have written over 20,000 words this year about sex, love, and everything in between. I’ve googled my way to being a sexpert on the consequences of putting an egg in your vagina, banged while eating a burger in the name of research, and conquered Peak Overshare in an effort to kick slut-shaming to the curb.
Our boys in blue are supposed to keep us safe from harm. Protect us from those who aren’t upstanding moral citizens like ourselves. They’re supposed to be the first line in administering justice. For many people, they’re perceived as such. So a defence of committing homicide against them might seem radical or disgusting. I – and philosophy – disagree.