I just don’t know why people are so obsessed with her, specifically, myself. Why has she compelled me to type her name so many times that when I type the letter “A,” my phone supplies “OC"? It is a conspiracy, I think.

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I don’t see why we — I, specifically — have to be talking about her all the time. She should not have made me build a special tab for my website that is dedicated to documenting her every move and outfit. The other day I was obliged to draw 17 caricatures of her, which I then hung over my dining room table. She is getting out of hand!

Just yesterday, I had to listen to an exhausting, 10-minute lecture from some idiot who would not shut up about Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, only to discover that it was myself, talking to myself. This happens every day.

Why is it that when I look into fire, her face emerges and when I gaze at the spots on a cow (She hates the cows! She wants to destroy them!), I see what appears to be her profile? How can it be that this week alone I have read 18 articles about her, two of which I did not write?

Who, I ask, who decided she should be the face of the Democratic Party that I see before my eyes when I close my eyes and also before my eyes when I open my eyes and furthermore in a framed picture hung over the foot of my bed and then again in a gold locket labeled “Nemesis” that I clutch so tightly in my sleep that my fingers lose circulation?

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Does it make me happy that I have covered every wall of my living space with images of her getting into and out of cars so that I might evaluate the emissions of said cars? I don’t know what it makes me feel, exactly. It makes me clench my fist with great alarm and knock over the three unflattering busts of her I have placed on my dresser. You would think that even one of my thoughts could be about something else, but they aren’t. That seems like bias, to me! I bet that is bias.

The part of my brain where I used to store useful information such as what breeds of dog should not be given corn products is now a Times Square-style smorgasbord of billboards of her face, name and random snippets of trivia about her. She is going to be in a comic book! Her mother wants her to get married! I used to think about the deficit, I think. I don’t remember.

I blame her.