Wednesday, July 22, 2009

One of the riskier things I do on a daily basis, besides of course pursuing a medical degree as a twenty-something single woman in NYC thereby ensuring hundreds of thousands of dollars are indebted to my name while my ovaries rapidly wilt, is walk away from an open Gmail window.

Typically it happens because I need to go to the bathroom, refill my tea cup, or scramble outside to the street to elbow swipe tweens out of the way of the Gossip Girl episode filming (true story - today!), but whatever the reason, it's just a dumb idea.

Were someone to gain access to my Gmail account they would essentially have an unadultered view of my psyche. And not just my psyche, my psychoses.

Cue the slasher music.

Gmail has become what my blog and actual paper diary are not: a repository of my inner most thoughts and neuroses. I write multiple times daily two to three line freakouts, observations or idiotic jokes to my nearest and dearest.

I compose long winded blow by blows of how this guy I liked this one time almost kind of looked in my general direction and I swear I'll try to ask him where the bathroom is the next time I see him to go ahead and jump start the love affair I know is brewing. Stuff like that.

Or, rants about so and so's new profile picture  on facebook or OMG can you believe what this or that wrote on his or her wall?

It's my place to unleash all the superficial, honest, humiliating truths of my life.

Basically what I'm saying is Gmail is my direct line of communication with Disturbingly Potent and if anyone other than her was privy to my inner workings, sweet Lord. I don't even know what I'd do.

Embrace a denial more powerful that that exuded by many a public pooper, I expect.

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