three in the morning productions

the skeptic and me

It happens. I'm so confused. I told myself, I wouldn't be crushed. But still, I was hoping--and I wished--and so I gave all my heart to this one dream. I guess the older you grow, the less you dream because you've felt the pangs of disappointment. My first impulse was to give up-- find the dreamer in me and kill it. How foolish of me to believe that I had a chance at all. Oh but I cannot be so quick as to resort to feelings of self-pity. And then, I tell myself, it's not exactly pity--I have to--to desensitize myself to hope, or else, remain vulnerable. In a way, I'll be strengthening myself. But this is wrong too--and it's the reasoning of a coward. I should... I should rise above my failures. I can't give up so easily. Then I ask, why not? Why should I go on through life setting up myself up for falls? Fight fate? I know I don't exactly go through every day thinking that there's nothing in life for me--but there are moments, when the little things, always the little things--never the big things, that amount into a vast and painfully intense realization that I have control of absolutely nothing. It knocks the breath out of me. I could sleep for a thousand years. But I might wake up still world-weary.

I don't know.

I don't know if I should stop dreaming. I'm a little more afraid now. But I guess I'm weak like that.

To Bill. Thank you. There is no way of expressing how much your words moved me. I've smiled and I've wept. This is something though that I'm going to have to deal with. Maybe I'll come out more disenchanted than ever with life, or maybe the dreamer will live on. But because you have chosen to impart to me your wisdom, this time, I won't allow myself to bottle it up or pretend that it's not there. And this time, I have in you a source from which I can draw my strength.

12.16.02 - 3:59 p.m.

	the skeptic and me It happens. I'm so confused. I told myself, I wouldn't be crushed. But still, I was hoping--and I wished--and so I gave all my heart to this one dream. I guess the older you grow, the less you dream because you've felt the pangs of disappointment. My first impulse was to give up-- find the dreamer in me and kill it. How foolish of me to believe that I had a chance at all. Oh but I cannot be so quick as to resort to feelings of self-pity. And then, I tell myself, it's not exactly pity--I have to--to desensitize myself to hope, or else, remain vulnerable. In a way, I'll be strengthening myself. But this is wrong too--and it's the reasoning of a coward. I should... I should rise above my failures. I can't give up so easily. Then I ask, why not? Why should I go on through life setting up myself up for falls? Fight fate? I know I don't exactly go through every day thinking that there's nothing in life for me--but there are moments, when the little things, always the little things--never the big things, that amount into a vast and painfully intense realization that I have control of absolutely nothing. It knocks the breath out of me. I could sleep for a thousand years. But I might wake up still world-weary. I don't know. I don't know if I should stop dreaming. I'm a little more afraid now. But I guess I'm weak like that. To Bill. Thank you. There is no way of expressing how much your words moved me. I've smiled and I've wept. This is something though that I'm going to have to deal with. Maybe I'll come out more disenchanted than ever with life, or maybe the dreamer will live on. But because you have chosen to impart to me your wisdom, this time, I won't allow myself to bottle it up or pretend that it's not there. And this time, I have in you a source from which I can draw my strength. 12.16.02 - 3:59 p.m.