Draining, and yet often strangely satisfying. Just ask a cunty ex-friend of mine who, four years later, still carries her anger around and irrelevantly writes in her sex advice column about the end of our friendship (three days before my dad died, nice.) The ax-grinding is due to the fact that a crush of hers dared to decide he dug me, instead of her victimized ass. We had seriously bad chemistry as friends, but on the off-chance I read her column (she is smart and I did miss her voice), finding a mention for the umpteenth time only reinforces a "good riddance" to the best thing to ever leave my life. I am fortunate I escaped only a couple years in.
Anyhoo, I digress. Summary of the link: When a boyfriend dumped her by email, French artist Sophie Calle asked 100 women to read it - and became the star of the Venice Biennale.
Here's an much-discussed post in a similar vein. After reading about Calle's project, I think I let him off easy, and shoulda made a billboard calling it art. Against my instincts, I took crazy's name off that original post, after he repeatedly Googled himself, found his emails online in all their glory, REALLY flipped out, and wrote me threatening emails. He continued to Google himself every day thereafter for, oh, about 3 months, promising to sue me for libel. Again, I only breathe a sigh of relief that I didn't get in any deeper.