Adults

by Emma Jane Unsworth

I’m an approval junkie and have a teacher–pupil dynamic with people in positions of authority. You should see me getting a smear test – it’s like I’m trying to sell them my super-clean vagina.

A long time ago, back in the days when love was still analogue,

‘You’ve got to watch guilt. It’s a tricksy one. Too often it’s just narcissism incognito.’

If you have a relationship with a white man you are basically running a correctional facility every fucking day, mate.

‘I’m tired,’ says Priority Woman. ‘I’ve had a bad night and I’ve got a busy day. Why are my needs not as great just because I’m not pregnant? Pregnancy is not a moral agent; it is a physical state. By giving you my seat I am perpetuating the idea that pregnant women are more valuable – and this does none of us any good.’

Sometimes I put on my friends’ accents as a way of acquiring their special strengths in certain situations, like a superhero choosing from a set of skills.

‘Facebook,’ I say, ‘is a data-collection agency dressed up as a chummy get-together but geared towards fuelling insecurity and pain. They do that to maximise the power of the ads and keep people coming back. Then they can all keep selling the same shit back to us more effectively.’ He says, ‘It makes it easy for me to meet up with people.’ ‘You think that, but the one thing Orwell didn’t predict was that we’d put the cameras IN OUR OWN HOMES. IN OUR OWN FACES. You know? We’re like our own fucking Big Brothers.

‘That’s London for you. A city of discontented idiots in expensive houses.’

YOU You are not maternal, said the blood. You are not maternal, said the tobacco. You are not maternal, said the overtime. You are not maternal, said the overdraft.

When did loving other people more than yourself start to become such a bad thing? All this “self-care” bullshit is just about buying things. It’s because society has let you down and you’re burnt out, so you’re going to throw money at the problem and reinforce the very thing destroying you.’

see that I have possibly been working very hard. I have been simultaneously trying to figure out the codes and rituals of a realm, an institution, whilst also trying to present myself as appealing. I feel very, very stretched and thin, like I might almost snap. I have been connecting, and connecting, and connecting. I’m like an algorithm system with feelings.

‘Oh, my darling,’ she says, into my hair. ‘At least I only had to try and look like Twiggy. You’ve got to sing and dance and fuck and work and mother and sparkle and equalise and not complain and be beautiful and love your imperfections and stay strong and show your vulnerability and bake and box and pull fucking pork. It’s much too much.’