I've been blocked out of my own blog

I can't read my own blog. I can post to my blog. I can change the template of my blog. I can alter the settings of my blog. But I cannot read my own blog. I would like to take this as an existential metaphor for being unable to know thy true self, but I'd rather be able to see my blog.

I am unable to read the story of my life. I have been cut off from the narrative that is me. Textual schizophrenia has divided me in two. I am in complete control of all my faculties. I can alter my appearance. I can communicate with the outside world. I can send and receive messages. But access to who I am remains denied.

Yet even this is paradoxical. I can, indeed, view my profile. I can see who I am. But I cannot see me.

Moreover, I can see my other blogs. My other me's. My writing me. My professorial past. But not my present.

Where am I?

Who am I?

I am not in Chicago. In Omaha. In Scottsdale.

I am denied access to my life.