Bless me, Father, for I have sinned; it has been one day since my last confession.
Three times I participated in an argument about trigger warnings. Each time I swore it was my last.
Once I replied “lol i’m not mad, it’s just funny to me”
Father, I was super mad.
I read an article about whether Taylor Swift is problematic.
I read an article about whether Beyonce is a feminist.
I read an article about whether Lana del Rey is a feminist, and shared it with a friend.
I spent 45 minutes of my workday looking for a specific reaction gif.
I passive-aggressively favorited all the tweets from one person in a heated argument.
I looked up an essay that drove me crazy when it came out three years ago solely for the pleasure of wallowing in hate. I relished every loathsome word.
I blocked someone because they said, and I quote, that the 1999 Mansfield Park movie adaptation is better than the book.
I would like to take that last sin back; I do not repent of it.
I posted an article with the comment “amazing, and so necessary” having read only the headline. My friends told me it was really good.
I pretended I had tweeted what turned out to be a now-debunked news item from two years ago “as a joke.”
I deliberately and wantonly sought out a political argument on facebook with someone who uses the term “cuckservative” unironically.
I kept that longread about Medieval sci-fi writers open in my tabs all day, knowing I would never read it.
I saw both sides, and said so, and I cannot swear that I did not say it smugly.
I coveted my neighbor’s instagram.
I asked someone why they had unfollowed me.
When someone asked me why I had unfollowed them, I said it was the twitter unfollow bug rather than their frequent reference to the “PC outrage machine.”
I muted my boyfriend. I have not yet unmuted him. He does not know.
I crossed off “do 1 chore!” off my daily goal list because I had read a cooking blog.
I tweeted in an over-familiar tone at a woman who seems really cool and with whom I would like to be friends but we’re not friends yet and looking back I realize I made it weird.
I rolled my eyes at a trend-piece on bridal crop tops, but in my secret heart I took notes.
I did not like my friend’s last selfie.
For these and all the sins of my past browsing history I do ask pardon. In the name of the retweet, and the share, and the funny gif, amen.
Clare Coffey writes from Philadelphia.
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