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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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