Listen up, Internet. I have been hiding from you.
From all of you. From the sweet, kind messages that flood my inbox, asking me where I got a dress I wore two years ago. From the rude, clueless comments telling me how I should eat something, or wear something, or what store I should shop at. From the people who have become so self-involved and painfully obsessed with social media, agonizing over captions and filters and pitches. From the people who ask me how to get more popular, more likes, more followers, more readers.
I spent four and a half days on a couch. Eating pizza. Only communicating with one person. I didn't even text my own mother until an hour before I begrudgingly decided to re enter society because I had to go to work.
We once left the house to get sushi; we then didn't leave again until the next day to get margaritas; and not again until tacos; and finally to try a new coffee shop and walk around a rich neighborhood.
I documented none of this for social media. You wanna know why, guys? Because your earth doesn't stop rotating if you don't Instagram it. Please listen to me. Your Instagram doesn't matter. You are terrifying humans who are obsessed with iPhone apps from which you derive your self-worth. Your overall opinion of yourselves comes from a square image that literally says nothing about what you're doing or who you are.
The world's seemingly overnight obsession with becoming Insta-famous has driven me to hiding on couches for four and a half days.