One of my readers asked me this a couple of week ago… and here is the simple answer. Who is asking? Ahhhh, I donno yet.

I mean, I could take a couple of incomplete stabs—like self-investigator, inspector and promoter of all things love, aspiring truth-sayer, protagonist in my own love story, intern of the healing arts, wounded puppy. I mean really… I am confusing, multi-faceted, evolution hungry. And this gurl done change, like all zzzz time.

And that is probably what makes me, me: the YET part of the simple answer. I ask so I can learn the answer. I ask and the question tinkers around, against my inner skin and walls of experience until it lands, like a pool ball, in some corner and (finally) rests peacefully.

I ask because I am obsessed with answering the (fucking) question: Who am I? The preparatory process gets me off. Makes me feel protected and clothed in understanding. Makes me feel like I have meaning and purpose and DIRECTION (away from pain and toward something magical, superbly Disney-Land-eee). I just want to make it count. Make me count. Make me significant.

So I guess by thinking of and investigating YOU, reader, I am really just finding out more about me. Partially because of my response to my questions, and mostly because of my reaction to your responses.