Some untruths (after all, how do we really ‘know’ anything)

How I know my housemates are shagging

They talk in low voices to each other.

They make cups of tea for each other

The guy is way happier and more chatty

The girl looks shifty when I meet her eyes

They enter and leave rooms together, always

They look like they’d make a good couple. They have the optimum height difference.


How I know my creative writing teacher doesn’t like me

People who wear fleeces a lot don’t tend to like me

She either looks at me like I’m a faded beige rug which she has just tripped over, or a stick of dynamite in a microwave which someone is about to switch on

When I talk about the themes in my writing, she seems a little creeped out, although she hides it well. Some of these themes involve mass shootings and prostitutes.


How I know I am 21

I just had a birthday. It has been 21 years since I left the womb.

I didn’t make a list of the things I wanted for my birthday. I wanted NOTHING at all.

People keep asking me how it feels to be 21.

When little kids run into me, their mums grab them and say ‘don’t get in the way of that lady’. LADY

Alcohol doesn’t like me any more. It doesn’t get me drunk, it just sends me to sleep.

I’ve started using ‘spices’ in my cooking…

I have a CV and LinkedIn and ‘career goals’

I sleep on a memory foam mattress and take cod liver oil and eat mackerel and get hip pain.


How I know I am not actually as ’21’ ish as I should be

I am as cack-handed with make-up as I was at 15

I carry my Gameboy advance everywhere with me, usually with a Warioland 4 cartridge in it.

I wear dungarees and bobble hats and (regrettably, but it was for WARMTH only) a onesie

I’m not over Poke’mon or Adventure Time or SpongeBob Squarepants

I whinge a lot about being cold/hungry/tired

I run everywhere and sit with my legs open and fart on my boyfriend and hit people

I don’t get out of bed for anyone or anything before 11. Well, 12. Sometimes 1pm.

If my boyfriend makes a dick/shit joke, I will always laugh.

I have given up trying to keep my room tidy in any way, shape or form. It’s in God’s hands now, not mine.


How I know I will never get my essay done on time

I’m sitting here blogging instead of doing the essay

There is a big, distracting spider in the room

I have written 1000 words out of 3000 words


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