Sometimes, after I’ve been gripped by a fairly crippling case of “I can’t stop looking at my ex’s Instagram/Twitter/Facebook/etc.” I try to pat myself on the back with the usual, “Hey, if I’m still looking at his Facebook, I wonder if he’s reading my blog?” Which kinda makes me chuckle a little bit, because I’m fully aware that I say some pretty outlandish, heinous, repulsive things on this blog. Things that you, as someone I have not had a contentious sexual relationship with, might perceive as comical or self deprecating or entertaining or concerning, but, take all that and view it through the skewed lens of the emotional haze that chronic fucking can induce – and, oh, boy, do we have a doozy here. Which is fine, this blog is only 33% a platform upon which I foist my spite for former lovers, and then I say other crazy things about depression/feminism/partying. I mean, it’s not like they didn’t know 100% that they were fucking a crazy girl with a crazy blog, and it’s not my faul that they can’t control the very human, very natural urge to cyberstalk former sexual prey. Well, whatever, eat it up. I know y’all are out there, and, yes, sometimes I do write about you, but, hey, it’s just another platform for glorified gossip and social pettiness, and who cares about that anyways?