Are you ware who reads your life when you send it out on print? Are you congnizent of the many eyes that scan you down, curious of how you've been? Do you write your truth or write for them? Do you write your thoughts or just your actions, do you tell in detail or skim to the end? Does your life read like Sparknotes? My inward self has gained a new pair of eyes; a set of eyes that see me day by day and day by day they know me more. Wandering in during a writing of this session, she caught the title "A Happy Sort of Jealousy" and wondered. And when I would not answer straight the name, she thought on it more and today realized its meaning. She asked to read it and I, bearing no secrets or privacies of shame, invited her to. Originally, these words were meant for me. They are always for me, strictly for me, and likewise by me. But I am aware of others lurking in my thoughts. I am aware of the curious, the bored, and the nosey. It does not change my thinking, though. Knowing well who might find this, it does not damage honesty or truth. I am who I am, I say and think as I do and none shall accuse me with a fault from thus. .D.P. Thinker.