Chapter Eleven (this one is about loads of really important and interesting things and stuff).

I have LOTS AND LOTS of things to talk about. I say that now but I'll probably end up only writing one paragraph, crying because it's too short to mean anything, deleting it then crying myself to sleep because I can't consider myself a fabulous internet-famous blogger any more. And that, THAT would be a tragedy.
Basically, I need to talk about a whole lot of shit that seems to be going down on Twitter. I really can't believe I just used the phrase "going down" in that context; let's move on.
So this afternoon everyone started tweeting angry things about the government allegedly moving the legal age of consent down to 14. As in, fourteen-year-olds could seemingly now have sex with each other and that would be perfectly legal.
Okay, firstly, no. The government can't and don't just make snap decisions like that. They need to have a consultation and vote on it and there is NOT A CHANCE IN HELL that most of the government would agree to lowering the legal age of consent to that. It just.. no. NO.
My second point: when has the legal age of consent ever, ever, EVER made an iota of difference to ANYONE? When has the sentence "Sorry, I can't have sex with you, I'm underage" ever even come close to escaping a teenager's lips? NEVER. That's when.
Thirdly: the only symptom of underage sex I've ever experienced is homosexuality. There you have it, kids. Don't have sex in your early teens or you'll be gay.*
*only the case if you have sex with someone of the same gender.
To conclude: It's not happening, and nobody will pay any more attention to it if it does. But it isn't happening, so that's irrelevant.
Second on my list of interesting things:
Work today was surreal. This guy came in (I work in a hospital cafe) wheeling himself in a wheelchair - well obviously because what else would you wheel yourself in inside a hospital - and he had one foot on the ground which he was kinda dragging along. Anyway, he stopped letting his foot move for whatever reason but kept wheeling his chair and just RAN RIGHT OVER HIS OWN FOOT. I swear, I felt awful for laughing but I couldn't help it. I had to hide behind the cash register and sit on the floor and hold my stomach because it hurt from laughing. I'm definitely going to Hell after that, but I don't even care. This woman came in later on and asked for a coffee, which I gave her, then asked me if it was a cappuccino or a latte. As if I might have the power to choose her drinks for her. She only asked for a coffee.
Yeah, I had more to say but I've forgotten. Highers are horrible. I'm not going to Leeds festival and my inner (and outer) Cure obsessive is miserable about this. I want some ice cream. It's time to stop typing.