12:35 a.m. Dear Diary: Today I did some stupid things on the web, felt somewhat the fool, and had that horrible feeling of Noooooooooo you get when you realize what you've done just one split second after you hit the send button and it's too late.

And this was all before I had a second cup of coffee, so there's no excuse. But it does allow me to bring up some points, some guidelines -- to build a manifesto as it were -- for Web Truth. Who am I, and what do I not want you to know about me?

Let me begin with some backstory. Let me lay some pipe. There's this bustling invisible world, see, of real people who just happen to manifest here in the pixels of my monitor. A motley bunch of people who seem to be putting their "real" lives up on the web every day for your perusal and approval.

Now, you must know that there is a sliding scale of reality here. Think about Martha Stewart for a moment. She can represent one end of the spectrum -- the least real person you've never met. At the other end might be a guy from World's Funniest Videos, maybe the one who dances vigorously at his cousin's wedding and his pants fall down. And he's not wearing clean underwear.

When it comes to keeping an online diary, of course, you should expect the bubble in the level to hover somewhere nearer to the dancing guy than to Martha, but then -- you'll still take most of what you read with a smallish grain of salt, depending. Remember the Blair Witch website way back in June?

What seems real may not be. Sometimes people have to fool you, whether for professional or psychological purposes. Magicians lie; con artists tell partial truths, actors pretend, salesmen exaggerate, lawyers equivocate, doctors mitigate.

You learn to live with it. You play the odds. You fall in love and send your last dollar to the little boy who wants a puppy. Some people write fake online journals and some people are faked out. You keep on signing your Christmas cards in gold ink and believing in basic human decency and the lottery.

Some people like to lie.

I am not one of them. I can't tell a joke because I can't withhold the punch line. I don't like giving surprise parties because I don't like pretending I've forgotten the date. I don't like hiding presents and even the most elementary card trick makes me blush at my own duplicity.

When I started writing for publication at 18, my picture and my name were in the local newspaper every single day. I've never, therefore, used a pseudonym or pen name or a ghost writer. In fact, I could never be a ghost writer because I could never keep my mouth shut and let someone else get all the credit.

Thus, this journal is as true as I can make it. I am not writing a parody here -- this is my real life in real time, and it's all true -- even and including the time slug I write at the top. The photos are all mine. Oh, I am so righteous. I am so incredibly full of it.

Because there are lots of things I'm not being truthful about here. I fear exposure and ridicule as much as the next gus ... maybe even more so because I am older and more fragile. I will, therefore, in my own self-interest, tell you a few of the many things I don't want you to know. Before someone else does, or before I send a private email to the whole entire listerv and my cover is blown.

First. I am older than I would like to be and I am sensitive about it. See, I don't know what happened. I don't remember wasting all my time, but suddenly a great parade of years has gone by. I can't get my mind around it.

Second. I am heavier than I would like to be and I keep hoping no one will notice.

Third. I spend many days inside my house on a small gerbil path from bed to bathroom to kitchen to computer to bathroom to kitchen to bed to kitchen to computer. I would like to seem more glamorous.

Fourth. I graduated summa cum laude from Princeton and I'm both proud of this fact and afraid if people know they will not like me any more. I fear, therefore, that my scholarship was wasted.

Fifth. I don't mind not having any pets.

Sixth. I like online journals way too much. I read far too many. I get too excited when I find another one I like. I think they are the secret to world peace.

Seventh. I am not rich. I'm supposed to be, by now, but other things got in the way. My priorities are all screwed up.

Eighth. I like making lists. (Hi Rachel!)

Ninth. I would rather flee than fight. I would rather starve than grab. I would rather let it pass than speak up. I would rather not be cheated on or lied to or stolen from because I never learn. I never want to learn.

Tenth. I can't jog because I get stitches in my side.

Thank you for reading. I like writing. And that's the truth.