I used to want people to know about this, but experience has led to an attempt to keep this separate from my current life. Former friends read it, and strangers read it, and strangers who have become friends read it, and my family reads it, sometimes. I'm not proud of all of the experiences I've documented here, but I am impressed at how much it affects my real life. I thought I knew what injustice felt like until Lela was sent my rant about her and people chose sides. On the other end of the social spectrum, I would have been stranded in an airport in Denver if stellarose and I hadn't commiserated over our foolish hearts.
For those of you who are still reading, I'll assume you're a fan of the writing, if not the writer, and know that I'm grateful for the audience and humbled by the emails and comments.
I maintain this in lieu of therapy (and sometimes in lieu of reality) and it's not so much a hobby as a lifestyle. In that vein, I've started another blog-ish thing that I want to be more anonymous, and you're welcome to ask me for the address. The people I don't want reading it already know who they are. The people I do want reading it are everyone else. In light of recent events, I have to be brutally honest with myself, but -- yay for maturity! -- I don't have to force that on other people.
I used to wonder why people wouldn't want to know exactly what's going on in my head. I've since come to realize that people are remarkably self-absorbed, and they only want to know how my reality relates to them. I'll keep this place going in the same way I have been, but for those of you who enjoy the more dramatic, narcissistic, brutal nature of my writing, lemme know.