On March 23, 2015, Kate created a profile on OkCupid.

Some 200 opening messages later, she's been on a whopping 4 dates.

Kate likes women. That feeling does not appear to be mutual.

Clearly, she's doing something right.

Each post is an excerpt of a message this seemingly inexorable self-saboteur has sent, backdated to its original send date.

More of the same is guaranteed.

Typos Make Me [Sic]

I enjoy the weight of words... as you also seem to do... and existential run-on sentences—the gnarled, tangly kind that ensnare you in another person's thoughts, reminding you, if only for the briefest of moments, that you in your own mind are completely, infinitely, irrevocably (terrifyingly) alone, and reminding you that there are seven billion and some change other unique internal worlds jingling and jangling about out there in some seven billion and some change other heads—entire universes ballooning with color, and emotion, and opinion, and squishy, silly ideas—acre upon wild, green acre of lush mental real-estate; sprawling cityscapes of archived memory; a dusty, blurring slurry of long-lost self-history—entire dream factories whose product you will never once taste or smell or see or hear or feel; your own being the only one you will ever really know—the overwhelming weight of that fact being one of the few things to cut you down at the knees, and make realize just how small you are, and how very magnificent you are not... until you remember that all of these things are what paint you and those seven billion and some change other selves wholly, ineffably, beautifully human, all sharing breaths of the same warm air. And in that, you feel connected. Because here you are, one amongst many: alone, alive, aloud... together.

That. I enjoy that.

You?

Remains To Be Seen

Still Hung Up On Her