She's right, of course.

I sometimes wonder what I'm doing here.

I mean, I know why I started doing this. I started doing this just because I wanted to keep an online diary. Nothing fancy. Nothing special. Nothing interesting.

But sometime over the past couple of years my reason evolved into something else. Something much more difficult. Something much more rewarding.

At some point I went from wanting to write, to wanting to be a writer. Every now and then I feel like I manage that feat, but not as often as I'd like. And certainly never without some emotion behind it, fueling the words.

So I let my feelings start to flow again, and I wait for inspiration. Beyond that, I wait for new inspiration. And I get nothing but the same old crap that I've already rehashed so often that even I'm bored with it.

And this makes me wonder. It makes me wonder what I'm doing here.