I still don’t understand how, in America, the NRA promotes guns specifically marketed towards children/toddlers while plan B birth control is strictly regulated for those 15+.
Not to become one of those teenage bloggers who only talks about her boyfriend, but I just have to say… he is pretty spectacular. He always tends to surprise me, and I don’t give him nearly enough credit.
Last exam today. I pre-bought booze to bring with me so the moment I hand in my paper I can start drinking right there in the teaching office of the law school. (It’s been a really brutal exam period for me, okaay? :/ )
Alright, I’m going to commit the greatest law school sin and admit that I actually really hate the movie Legally Blonde.
A while ago, I wrote about how I didn’t like calling my boyfriend a “boyfriend” because the term seems so juvenile and temporary. As the academic year is coming to a close, he and I are facing the reality that we’re not going to see each other for a few months over the summer since we’re both returning home (and both too broke to fly overseas to see each other). I’m thinking about what I’ll miss without him, and then it hit me. He’s my partner. He’s my partner in the most unmitigated sense of the word, and since first getting together, we really have taken on everything together. He and I battle the same academic struggles (as we’re doing the same degree), we share our deepest worries, go through little everyday life events together (grocery shopping, cooking, brushing our teeth, bank runs), update each other on our families, and exchange passing thoughts. Now, suddenly over the summer I’m not going to have that person next to me to make comments to, I’m going to be waking up alone in the mornings, and I won’t have someone to run errands with. That’s what I’m going to miss this summer, and that’s what I’ll miss most about him. I’m going to miss having a partner to take on life with.
1. I am addicted to coffee.
2. I cannot bowl to save my life. (As in, bowling the activity.)
3. I have an alcohol tolerance that’s usually reserved for Irish farmers or Russian novelists, and I will beat you in any shot challenge.
4. I’m short.
5. If I wasn’t studying law and politics, I would’ve studied physics.
6. I have traveled to over 25 countries so far.
7. I care about my little sister more than anything.
8. There’s a ring I always wear on my left hand.
9. I love classically well-dressed men.
10. I still cannot understand Glaswegian-Scottish accents.
Sometimes, it hits me that I’m actually an adult. This realization strikes most often when I occasionally do adult things, like signing the lease to an apartment or applying for a council tax exemption or debating which type of bleach will better unclog the hair-and-soap-scum-filled drain in my shower. During these moments, I relish in the independence, grumble at the mundanity, and ponder my maturity. But most of the time, I feel so impeccably young and lost - when I don’t understand a form I have to fill out, when I need to ask my parents how to wire money overseas, when I have overwhelming urges to sit around in PJs watching Disney movies, when I’m indecisively roaming a supermarket with no idea or motivation to cook tonight despite my grumbling stomach. I’m functioning as an adult in the most basic meaning of the word, but I don’t feel as though I’ve reached a new level of mental stability/maturity. l still seek my father’s approval, I’m still unsure of what I want do with/in my life, and I still drown in pools of insecurity. I may be an adult, but, really, I still haven’t grown up.
If I tell you I live in Edinburgh and you ask me how I like living in England, we’re not going to work out.
I once e-mailed my EU law professor at 2 am, to which he promptly replied “the only people up at this hour are the sad and the lonely”. It’s currently 2:23 and I’m unable to fall asleep. So which am I; sad, or lonely?
Some days, I wake up and the world seems bleak and miserable - the sky, dark; my plans, impossible; general loveliness, nonexistent. The days I want to hibernate in a pile of blankets, surrounded by nothing but my own generated warmth and steady breathing. But I force myself up, or he pulls me out of bed, with coffee as motivation. Then, after that cup of brew, the world seems okay again and my strength regenerates. Funny how little things make all the difference.