I gave myself permissions. I wasn't logged into my account and couldn't under new conditions, so I found a way to enter information using old logins and passwords. I created a new identity and invited myself to join in. I followed a link and logged in anew. I started to type with this new identity of mine and found a new voice. I created a new persona and redefined who I was. I said things--or wrote them, rather--that I might not normally have. I put new pronouns in front of attributions and inserted active verbs. I started to say things that came into my head, new things I hadn't thought of before. I went back and read what I wrote and found the earlier new me captivating. I was finally getting someplace I had never been before. Before I left a comment on a posting that I'd earlier typed, I re-read what an earlier me had wrote and took notes. Then I began to formulate an argument against what I'd said. And it went like this: This isn't the real you. You don't belong here. This may not be what you want to hear, but I think the old you was better. Go back, give up your permissions. Let the old you back in and speak from the voice you'd started out with. Don't confuse what's new with good. Old you is the same you and one we we're all used to. Before I submitted the comment to the post I'd mentioned I thought about the circular motion that was transpiring in front of me, and I couldn't help to wonder: I jjust read what I wrote. Why not post? Publish.