It's late. I can't be held responsible for being incoherent.

I can't believe school still hasn't started. It's Sunday night, and I'm in the newspaper office, and I am tired. It's been a long week. I've got one more section to proof before I can go home. Unfortunately, I don't think it's quite finished yet. But that's okay. My first class in the morning isn't until 8:30.

Sometimes I don't think I ever really learn anything new about myself; I just know things more deeply. It's been one of those weeks. Coming back to school, I have to redefine myself in relation to everyone and everything else. I've been knocking around the idea of self-narrative, how the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves really and ultimately define who we are. I catch myself saying to myself sardonically, "Well, you're just a bad person." But then other times I, half-joking, bolster myself with, "I am a good person." So which is it? Am I good or bad?

That's probably too reductionist to be an effective illustration. For one thing, if there is "none who does good," then I think it's fairly clear where I stand. But at the same time, I don't think sane people ever act according to what they sincerely think is wrong without suffering serious cognitive dissonance. What people think is right and wrong varies infinitely, but that most people operate with the mindset that what they are doing is generally right, or acceptable, can't be too far from the truth.

But it's probably too late and I'm probably too sleepy to come up with an effective illustration. I need to stay awake here, though. What else have I been thinking about? I want to get it all into one reflective post and get it over with. Why in the world do I blog? That's something that came up this weekend, talking about making actual connections with people, as opposed to just superficial conversations. Writing allows for that. By providing opportunity for revision and clarification, writing can be the foundation for more incisive and sincere interactions. When someone pours himself into his writing, I mean, he is in that writing. That's what good literature is—an intimate encounter with another person. And that is what you, the reader, are doing reading this—encountering me, in all my incoherency. Ooh, audacious, I know.

And, you know, that's what I'm going to do with some good literature tomorrow morning, bright and early in American Writers I. If I'm not still in the newspaper office.