When Your Biggest Fan Becomes Your Ex…
It makes it difficult to miss the empty spot in the bleachers.
When it comes to fans, mine are the fucking best. Duh. This is not new news.
I have a new fanboy, and he seems to think I’m the funniest broad in a 7-county spread, and he ought to know because that’s how far we live from one another.
Distance be damned, I am a funny bitch, there’s no doubt about that.
Also, sometimes I say some other shit, y’all know the shit. That shit.
Yep.
Really, I think mostly people just like when I write about them. Like, I’m sure it can’t be all that bad to hear me retelling your jokes with all the right nuances, because, again, I’m a funny bitch.
Or when I go all squishy and start fangirling over one of y’all like I have a habit of doing. Point is this…I talk about y’all the same way I talk to y’all. They’re one and the same to me. It’s not really all that different than when I was writing to myself, and for myself, when I didn’t even need the glass enclosure, because nobody was outside redlining my work.
Wait, yes it is, because if I fuck up, one of y’all is gonna tell me about it. Back then, I could have typos, bad synonyms, complete chaos throughout a story, nobody…
