We broke up six years ago. For some reason, you still like to call me or write me every so often to remind me how much better than me you're doing and how swell your life is. Good for you. The other day I was reading your blog, and I felt like I'd read it somewhere else before; I searched for some of the phrases you used. I knew they weren't your words—you still can't even fucking spell t-o-m-a-t-o. You plagiarized it from Craigslist. So I continued searching to see about the rest of the entries—it turns out every blog entry you've posted for the past two years is completely stolen. You even pretended other people's pets were yours. So if not those things, what have you been doing? What proof is there that you do anything at all besides get pregnant? The worst part is that even when fabricated, your life still sounds completely mundane.