"Why the hell do you write, M.W.? Why would you throw your thoughts out there forcefully into a gaping abyss and hope that it will somehow matter, whether it's now or in the long run? Why do you constantly insist on putting yourself in direct line of fire from the opposition?
Why do you spend endless, grueling, long hours sitting in front of a screen, tearing your brains out, trying to format your convoluted thoughts into something mildly coherent for all those crazy people out there to read?"
And then I answer myself:
Because you're crazy, too, and you give a shit.
And then I chastise myself for ever feeling the need to ask those questions.