I'm afraid I am becoming schizophrenic.

Not seriously. I'm probably the same old neurotic I've always been, but when it comes to writing for this site, I find myself torn in two different directions. On the one hand, I really don't want to write about politics. I honestly believe that politically, we have reached a point of no return in this country and that it is essentially all downhill from here. I don't think anything I do or say can stop that.

We have had so much mediocre leadership in this country the last 30 years that we no longer expect anything better. People run for president who should be laughed at, but they are somehow taken seriously. And no one gets anything done because as soon as one party takes control, the other party digs in to block them until the next election.

There isn't anything I can do to stop that. In nearly two years writing for this Website, I have received maybe 15-20 comments that didn't come from someone who was related to me. Of course, I have received nearly 2,800 comments I marked as spam and deleted, because all they were about were linking to something someone was trying to sell. It's just one reason the Internet is at best a mixed blessing.

I'm sure I reach more people by linking to this site from Facebook than anything else, but I don't know if anything I have written about politics has changed anyone's opinion. And believe me, writing about politics does not appeal to my own personal better angels. It only makes me angry ... or sometimes sad. Angry that things are so messed up and I can't change them, sad because maybe if I had had the ability and the drive to write like this 40 years ago, I could have accomplished something.

I have been thinking a lot lately about what my purpose was -- or is -- and whether I have accomplished anything of any real merit in this world. I suppose guys like me think thoughts like this when they know the end of the road is going to be in sight soon. It isn't that I can see the end of the road from here at age 61, but there are times I think I can see a place from where I will be able to see the end of the road. If that makes any sense at all.

In the last few days, I have been reading a wonderful book -- W. Bruce Cameron's "A Dog's Purpose."

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This book has made me laugh a few times, but it has brought tears to my eyes more often than that. But the fascinating thought that dog's live many lives, that their souls survive from one body to the next, fills me with wonder. I always thought that one of Dan Jenkins' best lines in his many funny books was that God's biggest mistake in creating the world was that dogs live such short lives.

I don't know what comes after this for me, but I'm pretty sure I won't be reborn as an infant yet still carry the memories of this life with me. Not that I think that would be a good thing. So much of my life has been governed by fear, insecurity and guilt that I will not miss not being Michael Rappaport when the time comes.

In fact, I don't think I would mind being a dog. Living and gaining happiness from making someone else happy -- and being simple enough for that to be enough -- doesn't sound like such a bad thing.

I haven't been a <em>bad</em> person.

I might have been a better dog.