31, Irish, living in London. I teach children for a living, on a good day they teach me too. I have a son, he's the greatest motivation I've ever had.
The journey towards greater political correctness is one I generally support. You don’t get to be racist or sexist anymore? How sad for you.
I’ve never fully understood mental illness. Never experienced it, I suppose. I’ve experienced funks, usually on a Sunday evening. I’ve been sad, really sad sometimes. But that’s it. I’ve been able to deal with it most of the time after a couple of Jocko Willink motivational videos and achieving something in my day. Clawing back the control through creating something, or tending to tasks in my house, or even sometimes just taking my son to the park.
The front door creaks open worryingly. Steven and Amy peer in hopefully, and once they’re certain nothing will fall on their heads, they step inside and take a deep breath. For better or worse, they’re home.
It was Belfast, the early 1990s. Two Special Forces types, the type they usually deny exist are tuning a high velocity sniper rifle. Several streets away, an equally incendiary and important figure in the IRA was sitting in the back of a car pulling up to an embassy. Shane, the younger of the two was peering through the sight. He turned to his captain, who was wiping his brow and mustache of sweat and looking down with contempt at inner city Belfast.
Phil Anselmo, Lead Singer of Pantera, turned 50 years old. There was a time when you would have wished him Happy Birthday with a fist bump and a jaeger shot. Even if you weren’t with him, he was such a heralded figure his birthday was celebrated like royalty with the metal community.
The men dug while the woman sewed, a typical scene. They spread the cloth over the freshly dug hole, covered it with leaves and took to the trees.
You’ll get to the hospital, probably hungry and sweaty. But you won’t know what's going on. Nobody will. But don’t ask. Don’t ask much of anything. Until you’re in your own house again. And even then, tread lightly. Its about her. There is a gender political vortex in play here. I thought as a dad who showed up, and a dad who had made it clear I wanted to learn something, I would be appreciated. I was wrong.
Traitors Her eyes rolled back in her head. It was a bad combination, too much too fast. She courted the fine line often, but they’d never seen her like this. They put her in the bath and turned on the cold water. She convulsed, her eyes rolling back in her head. The first thing she saw was their smiles and their camera phones. Traitors! She came around. They told themselves it was just the ecstasy. She told herself she’d be fine. Have another drink darling, I can wait.