i love chelsea, she’s fantastic.
“Just one more second,” I say, pushing my laptop away from myself even as I keep typing, “This is really important.”
My boyfriend sighs. He knows, just as much as I do, that there is nothing important about this. Someone said something nasty on Twitter, or someone wrote an article that I have to hate-read, or an old acquaintance just got engaged on Facebook and, good God, was their jeweler blind? It all kind of blurs together, a tepid soup of frustrations or righteous indignations or morbid curiosities that fill and disappoint you like emotional fast food. I give them attention because, on some level, I imagine that there is something very essential that I’ll miss if I don’t. With so much information — so many things to get a rise out of me — it feels impossible to ignore.
Even when there really is something pressing, when it has…
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