I realise some people are still trying to reconcile the real-life me with my blog. Just like a fortune teller who's been reading my palm and examining the whirls on my fingerprints, before frowning into my eyes and telling me, "This can't be your hand". Well, it is. This is all me. Like the sun, I am nothing but constant, but somehow a more reticent moon is expected. To answer a friend who couldn't understand why I've a thing for difficult men: it's not that they were difficult, but rather that they could peer into my hand and recognise me for who I am.