A funny, honest travel diary about going to Cyprus alone for a birthday, emotional baggage included.
Is it ok that AI talks me down from panic… or is it mildly alarming that I’m asking a robot to validate my feelings?
Dear the bloke upstairs, It’s your disgruntled neighbour downstairs, and I’m writing to inform you that I don’t believe you’re as good at sex as your partner’s noises would suggest. …
Who got lucky last night? Jenna got lucky last night!
Do I pick a coping mechanism that expenses my organs or my bank balance?
I wouldn’t say that I’m done with living, but I’d like to take a wee hiatus on this whole “being an adult” thing. I’d therefore like to check myself into your establishment, please.
Is Poetry Just for Pretentious, Dull Lesbians Who Have Too Many Feelings? (Yes, Yes It Is)
I’ve never been a fan of poetry. I always thought it was just some wanky rubbish that boring people pretend to like in order to sound smart.
I’d rather drink bin juice than enter the ladies’ singles tournament again.