As someone who edits high schoolers’ writing in my spare time, I’ve read a lot of terrible teenage prose through the years.
Pretension is the best-case scenario, indicative if nothing else of a lively imagination.
I arrived at college convinced of two things: Ayn Rand’s genius and the transformative powers of cunnilingus. Neither was a belief I had tested in practice, but enough smart and enthusiastic people endorsed them that I took them both on faith.
In the universe of the so-called hookup culture, sex is an either/or game, with no room for nuance in the middle. It's lovemaking OR it's hooking up. You're boyfriend and girlfriend, or you're just using each other's bodies.
I realized that my anxiety was not the result of a bad relationship. Mostly, it was there because I have been neurotic and change-averse my entire life, and -- surprise! -- nothing about my brain chemistry changed after my boyfriend proposed to me.
Fuckits, n.: the rush of yielding to temptation, esp. to behave in a compulsive manner; the flood of relief that occurs after permitting oneself to indulge (see: Case of the Fuckits).
Many loved ones had names for my problem: Slothy Slothiness. Another Day in the Life of Disaster Girl. The Anna Show, Where the Rest of Us Can Only be Extras. The actual name for what I had was ADHD.