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2001-02-04 Very late at night, after several poor starts, I sit and try to think of anything to write here, conscious that writing will keep me so wakeful that I won't feel well tomorrow. I am determined to write something, because I don't want to go to bed feeling defeated by the lateness of the hour; nor do I want to wake up feeling that I need to break into my "work day" to write something to make up for my failure to do so tonight. But I must be careful not to write anything that causes me to feel any sort of personal attachment or admiration�because in that case I'll be too tempted to stay up editing and re-reading it; and I must be absolutely certain not to write anything that's liable to keep repeating in my head when I finally try to sleep. At best, I can walk away from tonight's entry right now and have no more dull-headed a Monday than usual; whereas to keep at it could be catastrophic. It's like that scene outside the planetarium in Rebel Without a Cause, where James Dean refuses to fight. What if he could really control himself, enough to keep from going to the cliff that night�what if instead of playing chicken he just stayed home and got some sleep? Maybe in a year he'd be editing the school newspaper, preparing for college, getting satisfying blow jobs from the Sal Mineo character. If it weren't for pride it wouldn't be too late.