On the East Coast, it is appoximately one thirty-eight in the AM. Way too early for me to sleep. So what am I going to do? I'm going to write.

Why am I going to write? I ask myself rhetorically. Are people going to read my thoughts and opinions on things? Am I to believe that just because my website is on the internet that people will come to it, read it, and think about it, and maybe I will have made a contribution to someone else's life? No.

Why not. Why can't I believe that people will read it? Because logically, they won't. I am awake at one forty-something in the morning, writing an article that will never be read by anyone but me. What does that say about my character? Not much, I'm sure everyone does it. Or do they?

I have no idea where this is going.

There is no thought behind this; everything is written extemporaneously, and I don't feel like going back and arranging my ideas in a logical flow. Instead, you get them as they come to mind. Not that anyone will read this, anyway.

I think I am doing this as an ego thing. To make a personal webpage, you need a bit of ego, you know, so you can believe somewhere in the back of your mind that people will read it and care. I know consciously that no one will care about what I'm writing, but I also know I want to believe that they will. And even though my hit counter remains at a solid three-fifty-something, mostly brought up because of myself and my friends, and even though there are never any new messages awaiting my return to my inbox, save some junkmail and the occasional e-mail from friends, despite these facts, I keep on writing. Despite the fact that that was a run-on sentence, I keep writing. Just because no one reads it doesn't mean that I can't make myself believe that people read it.

And isn't that all that matters?

Nearing the one fifty AM mark. I don't feel like sleeping. I feel like ranting and stuff, but now I'm depressed because my work will be in vain. Maybe someday, somehow, people will care what a high school punk Floridian Aquarius republican has to say. Maybe so. Maybe not. Probably not.

But I can pretend. Thank God for the imagination.

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E-Mail: [email protected]