Because This Is The Beauty Of Strangers:

But Now My Problems Had Been Set Loose. They Could Be Anywhere At Any Time And I Was Just Like Everyone Else I Knew: Almost Positive That There Was Something Profoundly And Undiagnosably Wrong With Me.

I Love To Bake, So I Made Vanilla Bean And Blueberry Muffins For Sick Hospital Children. Just Kidding! All Of That Is True Except The Sick Children Part.

For The Average Person, Taken To Their Sick Bed, It Takes A Serious Bout Of Pneumonia Or A Full Body Cast To Completely Forget The Life They Had Prior To Falling Off The Rollercoaster. I, However, Will Do This Over A Paper Cut On My Thumb, Obsessing Of Said Cut And Being Generally Consumed By It.

When I Was Nine Years Old, I Wrote A Short Story Called 'how To Build A Snowman,' From Which No Practical Snowperson-crafting Techniques Could Be Gleaned. The Story Was An Assignment For Class And It Featured A Series Of Careful But Meaningless Instructions. Of Course, The Building Of The Snowman Was A Red Herring.

We've Come To Expect So Little From Online Privacy Measures That Public Displays Of Concern About The Matter Are More Or Less For Show. Being Devastated To Discover You've Been Tagged In Somebody Else's Photo Has An Air Of The Melodramatic About It At This Point.