A sense of unease

There has been a great deal of what I shall kindly refer to as “canned content” appearing here over the past several months. To those who have written to ask why all I can say is I find it difficult to insert my own recollections between these posts. I have asked if these excerpts might be placed elsewhere, but there are rather persuasive arguments made that as this is essentially ‘my’ story it makes sense to have it appear here.


Truth be told, I find it somewhat disturbing to read what has been written about me. I sometimes do not recognize the woman described therein. It has been my position throughout the last 5 years that most people cannot understand me and the easy explanation for the words I read is that I am correct. My friend brought expectations into this project and sought to force me to fit within the boundaries his expectations demanded, or so it might seem.


The juxtaposition of this biography and my more recent notions and recollections is problematic. I cannot reconcile the person I know myself to be with the person depicted in the chapters appearing here. It is not a matter of flagrant departures from what I consider to be the truth, rather it is an undercurrent, a sort of thematic discord, between my personal understanding of what these events mean to me and what they seem to mean to others. Perhaps I must admit I understand you as little as you understand me. It would certainly serve as well as an explanation of this sense of disconnection.


It is an unforgiving exercise, inviting a stranger into your world to poke, prod and ask uncomfortable questions. My own natural reticence likely made matters worse for both of us and I found it difficult to avoid manipulating him so as to obtain something more to my liking. Despite centuries of bending and adapting to whatever circumstances might present I am still rigid underneath and unwilling to have my sense of who I and what I am challenged by an outsider. Nonetheless I have allowed this to be done, and the tale is here for any who care to read it.

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