I did the thing that sometimes happens here ... I read some of my old journal entries. I was looking for a quote by Ludwig Wittgenstein, the poor guy: "The limits of my language are the limits of my life," but never actually found it. Instead I found myself here. I keep doing that.

So, what am I doing here? I wanted and needed to thank anyone and all for welcoming me, reading me, and supporting me at those times I ran here to spit about. My issue was real, raw, disturbing, perhaps entertaining, and served as my wall to bounce off of. I could never look bad with such a good excuse.

Now, it's plain me. The idea of plain me took some getting used to: as I was overdressed in crisis, I am now scantily clad in regularity. Or irregularity. I don't always like plain me. My introverted outside makes for an incredibly extroverted party life inside. I sent out invitations but the directions getting here are a bitch, I know.

When I get the time I'm going to post an entry to help describe myself. This medium has no personality without titling it, "My personality, I think." And I'd like readers to do the same.