12:18 p.m. So here we are, between a complete solar eclipse and Friday the 13th. In 1999. Superstitions, anyone?

No? Don't believe in such malarkey? How about routines? Do you have routines that you follow faithfully? Rules of the road. Restrictions. Proscriptions and prescriptions to follow? So many many rules. So many of them start out as laws, strictly punishable with death, and then over the centuries disintegrate into mere superstitions, punishable by ... well, actually they're still punishable by death when you think about it. Walk under a ladder or across the path of a black cat and eventually, you, too, will die.

Well today, in honor of the day, I'm going to break a few rules. Why not? Who's going to stop me?

Rule #1. Don't talk about the journal in the journal.

But really, how can I not? Here we are, 8 days away from my 2-month anniversary online. My life has completely changed because of this venture. Utterly, totally, and completely. I wake up in the morning, first thing I think about is: What will I write? This morning, for example, after dreaming about Rhea Perlman getting married and having a big fight with her mother, whose name was Nancy, I wondered -- should I write about it? After all, yesterday I talked about this very thing: dreaming about TV personalities I've never met, interacting with them on the other side as if we're old, close buds. It's just too weird.

This journal has become a vibrating thread through my life, a lifeline threaded out through the slot in the modem. When I drive through the deserted countryside and look out at the green hills with only a lonely farmhouse here and there, I think there could be a person inside that house who is at this very minute reading my words and writing me an email note. I think about it when I'm out among real people, wondering if I should mention it -- describe my little invisible friends -- to the flesh and blood person standing right in front of me. When you think about it, really -- it's as strange as a waking dream.

How can I not talk about it? Who made up this rule?

Rule #2. Don't write every day, especially if you have nothing to say.

But I'm so proud of myself for writing every day. Sorry. I can't help it. I've thought of stockpiling some entries in case of trouble, but remember what happened to Steve Martin's weatherman character in LA Story when he tried to stockpile some weather broadcasts? Sure, most days around here really are sunny, 82 degrees, wind coming in, sun going down. But every once in a while the earth opens up and leaves a gaping 90-mile gash, and you know -- people notice. It would just be my luck.

Worse, on the eclipse day, two days ago, I took so long trying to create a stupid gradient on the background (which I now realize I should apologize for to anybody looking at it in an AOL browser) that I gave up and didn't really write anything of my own after taking so long to find the Virginia Woolf quotation. Plus, I knew what I wanted to say, and it was so hard to get it just right that I quit in mid-effort before the aforesaid sun actually did go away.

But then, I felt so oddly let down and empty. Bleak, even. I went back and toughed it out and suddenly, all was right with the world again. How could a task that started out so onerous become so comforting in such a short period of time?

Rule #3. Don't talk about your laundry lists, or politics, or other people who write online journals. Don't whine. Don't get all intellectual all of a sudden. Don't write a column. Don't fictionalize. Don't name names. Don't make 'em too short. Don't make 'em too long.

Ok. I'll try. I'll try harder.

Rule #4. Diet and exercise.

Nope. Ain't gonna do it. As Catherine Deneuve is supposed to have said, "After 40, you've got to choose. Either a beautiful face or a beautiful derriere."

After 50, you have no choices left. Life's a rare bitch, and this is her project.