It was never my intention to put the real me out here for anyone to see. Knowing too much would leave me open. Vunerable to the world. So I shielded you from me and me from you. But, then I contemplated going back and exposing it all, under an alias of course. Just to be free and not give a damn. But I do. And what would I gain playing you like that? Possibly fame if lewd and dramatic enough. But we already have that now don’t we? Not my taste to be like everyone else. Cuz, there are infinite ways to tell a story. It is theraputic for me to write and well, I want you to know what I go through. What happens. What I think. So I partially put my quirky self out there. It may be a blessing to you, in some small way, or it maybe just something to read. Or not. When I’m dead, they can publish my real journals if no one’s ashamed to say I was their kin. Me, the real me… the one who cusses, and writes poems for his eyes only, and thinks just about anything about anyone and will say it —in my diary. The me who can’t believe how stupid the smart me can really be, and the me who is slow to forgive myself for mistakes I’ve made years ago…that me is more than anybody needs to know because I didn’t list even half of the crap about me!…that me is the me I so love because God didn’t make not one of us perfect. So the other me says, give it time. You will find a way to share without frightening them off. As it is, I feel myself drawing nearer.