An annotated edition of Fight Club with David Foster Wallace-style footnotes provided by all my worst boyfriends.
A transcript from the night I was conceived.
The toxic shock syndrome tampon box insert.
Dossiers on every Law & Order character seen unloading crates from a truck or ship.
My 10th grade midterm progress report where I was given “Too Much Unnecessary Talking In Class” by 6 of my 8 teachers, setting a new record for my household.
The MTA poster that cites how many people were killed on New York City’s subway tracks last year (55), perpetuating my decade-long crippling fear of being shoved over the yellow line.
The Kardashians’ YA novel.
Closed captioning on a TV that is not in a doctor’s office or loud bar.
A biography of Eva Braun (author note: I own this in real life).
My college application personal statement that, at the time, I thought was a true and beautiful representation of who I was as a human.
Board of Education meeting minutes from a town in which I did not grow up.
Board of Education meetings from the town in which I did grow up.
Facebook posts that directly address dead relatives.
The lyrics to “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time.”
All the poetry I wrote about my parents in high school before realizing nothing rhymes with “divorce.”
Twitter updates about how few emails you have in your inbox.
Comments on a famous person’s Instagram posts.
One or all of the undergraduate lit papers wherein I referred to an interpreted connection in the text as “tenuous at best.”
One Direction’s tour rider.
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