Days of Independence

A photo posted by Krista Garcia (@goodiesfirst) on

I was feeling especially stalkery a few weeks ago and thankfully most of it is out of my system because I have more tangible things to think about right now. (I’m convinced that extra fixating was a side effect of the medication I was taking for migraines. I was put on something new this week, supposedly with fewer cognitive downsides, and we’ll see if I get smarter or dumber in July. Oh, and bizarrely, I did end up losing 11 pounds on the very low dose of Topimax I was taking over two months and I didn’t even know it, which is why I’m not totally writing off this class of drugs yet despite the negatives.) It’s part of my core being, but I’m also starting to think it’s just unusual curiosity about people generally because I will look up way too much information about women I’m trying to figure out, too, not just guys. It’s fun, satisfying, a great hobby overall. Frankly, I would love it if others were interested enough in me to investigate my business, though the only times it has happened with my knowledge (and it sort of did a couple weekends ago with a Twitter stranger) it has been creepy as hell.

Ok, could only people that I find mutually interesting and/or attractive find out my name even though I never told them, look at my Instagram photos for clues about whereabouts, and then look at my employer’s Instagram for more potential glimpses, see non-privacy-protected Facebook comments demonstrating what kind of person gave birth to me, all my past new job announcements and snippets of exes, road trips, and European epicurean vagabonding? Thanks.

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