just imagine for a moment that i’m a celebrated person — a scientist, a politician, an actor, even. no, really think about it; let it swish over your brain and let it settle until you can picture me shaking the hands of equally prominent associates and colleagues. then, at that moment when you can picture me being someone of grand stature, would this website mean something? would it be more than just some callow youth’s take on a big, big world that has no real place for her? would my insight be more intelligent or perhaps even more valuable?

i truly wonder at times why i even bother writing the things i do, why i have this need to jot down mundane details of my life along with appropriate amateur philosophies. i wonder with the same curiosity why any person would bother to read the things i write. i have no merit, no credible objective for such inane threads of thought. why, why, why?

other times i wonder something else. i wonder why i’d ever expose such intimate details of my life to people whom i’ve never met, people i only know through these fingers of mine that punch at my keyboard so much that the clacking sounds have since been reduced to a comfortable thrumming.

and then it hits me. comfort. it’s a certainty i can find while writing these words of mine. here is a journal no different from a leather-bound or floral-patterned binding of paper you can get from a store, except for the fact that i am allowing myself to share it with you. it’s always nice to know someone’s listening — or in this case, reading. in this, i feel the most extreme comfort.

i don’t mean for this to sound like some speech fabricated for the winning of my oscar. i only mean to say that i’ve found a purpose in all of this; i’ve found my compass bearing, if you will. although i may not be an esteemed personality representing the world, i find some assurance in those that take the time to read this perhaps inconsequential prattle that i manage to pour out almost everyday. it says a lot, thanks.