forgetting myself

I forget, everything and nothing, I need a log. Something I can come back to. More importantly, I want to have a record that my family and friends can look at. I think they are hesitant to ask how I am doing.

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It’s a wonder that I didn’t foresee the cataclysm, but then I never really envision the finish of anything that I start. It’s the risk that fascinates me, the moment of infinite possibility.

Letters to My Daughter ¦ My Charts ¦ Off Topic ¦ Finding Aikaterine

me…

female.inquisitive.intp.passion.160.aesthetic.art.words.temptation.beauty.chloe.life

On the off chance that:

you are not a family member or friend checking up on me

&

you want to know more about who I am…

I will tell you what I want you to know here.

you want to talk to me…

If you stumble upon my musings and want to leave a comment, feel free. I like to hear from people; but be forewarned, I reserve the right to berate idiotic postings at my leisure.

what this journal is about…

This site is about reducing my exquisitely painful existence into words. It’s a brutally honest disclosure to the anonymous few who will grace me with their presence. If you want to learn about me, you have to read. No snappy visualizations, no candid snapshots (o.k. maybe a few), no editing. It’s just me.