As with most mornings on my days off, it’s a slow roll to wake up this particular morning. I sleepily smile at the text from my boyfriend, reply to it. I pet my perpetually hungry cat, Ned. I browse Facebook for a couple minutes, watch the new Star Wars trailer, realize that Darth Vader’s helmet kinda always looks like the “gritted teeth” emoji. A friend on Facebook has lost a loved one, and I almost comment on the post but decide not to. I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m even sorrier for all the notifications I’ll get if I comment on your post.

Then I check the dashboard for my shitty-ass blog. Oh great, I think, rolling my eyes, Chad’s back.

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I started this blog a few years ago to chronicle my experience leaving my job for a year to have an “artistic sabbatical”. Halfway through that year, I had a rough time of it and suddenly the writing got more personal. I knew then that I was making a choice to put my ramblings out into the public domain, and I also knew well enough from Reddit message boards that not everyone would be kind. Take the above comment, posted at 1:04 am to my recent piece about transparency and honesty. Chad’s clearly trying to bring “tool” back. The overall message in my piece wasn’t very controversial, just an affirmation that it’s better to be open than not. But Chad’s had it in for me for awhile:

Chad posted the above in response to my Faraway, So Close piece I wrote in January. That piece was written as an amalgam of a few long-distance experiences I’ve had, and I was pleased with how it turned out. The last line of the comment, though, reveals a clue to the owner: he’s in Los Angeles, and he called me “kiddo”. Oh. Duh. It’s probably Bill.

Bill Kramer dated an ex of mine for awhile in Los Angeles, and he was reportedly batshit crazy. He allegedly struck my ex in the face with a cellphone when he thought my ex had been secretly texting me. He still occasionally harasses my ex and one of his good friends, and very rarely, even does the same to me. One of his signature words he calls me is “kiddo”, and he’s created fake Facebook identities to troll me, like “Lilmikey Schneider”. The commenter’s probable identity doesn’t really matter, though, it doesn’t change the fact that the commenter is seriously invested in my personal life. In the wise words of the poetess M. Carey, “Why are you obsessed with me?”

In the fall of 2012 when I went through the aforementioned “stuff”, I looked deep inside and realized I was probably working through some abandonment issues from my brother’s death 20 years ago. I hadn’t finished the Brother’s Keeper series addressing these issues, whether because of moving to new city, or finding an apartment, or just being focused on my day job. I decided recently to put this project on the front burner again and finish it, but not soon enough for Samantha:

Samantha posted that as a comment in response to a piece I posted in February called “Cheat Code“, that talked about how dating apps are similar to video games. She’s super-interested in the resolution of the series about my dead brother and wants the world to know it! What a sweetie.

Equally sweet is Alex, who commented  at 5:14 am on a popular post of mine, the 30 Day Dating Cleanse. Points to Alex not only for the correct usage of the word “facile”, but for the phrase, “like staring at a panda up close”.

I’m going to title my memoir “Tragically Close To Interesting”. Good luck to you too, Alex!

Oh,and here’s the kicker. Evan posted this at a perfectly sober 2:32 am, but it’s remarkably lucid.

Sigh. Not that I’m one to get defensive or anything, but my self-deprecating theme in my writing is just that, it’s a tone choice (which was definitely the case in this piece, the second of my “Love In The Age Of Scruff” pieces). I’ve never had a preference for masculine men, you weirdo. The “Wal-Mart of online publishing” is a cute touch, I have to admit, but the “Jagged Little Pill” reference kinda falls flat. My favorite of all time is the novel-length trolling remark that’s punctuated by the winky-smiley face, that probably is trying to imply “I’m giving unsolicited tough-love but I mean well”, but actually says “I’m just sociopathic enough to think that my public comment will be received as helpful advice, and please sir may I make a coat out of your skin?” The part where he says “no calling yourself an artist when a retail job is your bread and butter”…huh? Who made that rule? Privilege is the new black.

The thing is, there will always be crazy trolls out there, and all of these comments are fascinating to read. I have to take the bad with the good, and these sharks I occasionally brush up against in these deep waters just go with the territory. As long as they’re not hurting anyone, they should keep lashing out. I have thick skin, despite what my writing about dating may sometimes imply. I’ll never bend, or stop writing, or change what I write about based on the opinions of the few.

Bring it on, jerks (insert emoji of nails being painted).