I lost my idealism at a very early age. From then on, I gained a sense of misanthropy and general hatred for my fellow man that permeates my sensibilities either directly or indirectly even to this day. For the most part, I am not a writer, but a computer programmer, and so my writing is generally attrocious. And I imagine that I'll update as long as I can dedicate myself enough time in between doing a bunch of things to sit down and write again.

Writing is really interesting, but I always feel as though I'm writing something that either someone has done before or something that no one would ever do at all. And so, I feel as though my work is either derivative (which is true) or just generally crappy (I'm not going to beat around the bush).

I have trouble writing conclusions. Most of the chapters I start, as anyone can see, lack endings. They are all beginnings, and it's beginning to wear on me. One of these days, I have to finish at least one.

This is the strangest sensation, writing to myself, with the notion that others will read it. Almost as though I'm writing a journal but nothing so emo/goth.

I'm an occasional smoker, in case anyone reading wants to know. I haven't quite gotten to the point where I'm chain smoking yet, and I'm sure I'm just like any other smoker in that I'm trying to quit, but it just isn't happening.

I'm going to write a story, in case anyone's interested, called the post people's (a nod to a Philip K Dick short story) about a tumor that inhereits a large amount of wealth because it can "think". It'd be a parody, of course, of the pro-life movement, of which I am not. Expect to see that at some point.