Somehow, my column from last week — the one about my neighbors having loud sex and me dying alone in a house full of cats — ended up getting a lot more attention than I’d expected. It ended up on some weird Web site, www.fark.com, that apparently has a fairly widespread audience: According to the little counter next to my link, around 35,000 people checked it out.

I got 178 e-mails, 166 people posted comments on the Web site, four radio stations asked me for interviews and a producer from The Tonight Show with Jay Leno called to see if I’d come out and talk to Jay. Sadly, most of these people thought I was some fat, undersexed cat lover who truly believed in a world of abstinence. As soon as they found out I hate cats and know that people who are in love and married have polite sex on rare occasions, they lost interest.

But now there are all these pressures. I can’t just sit down and write any old column I feel like. No, there’s my public to think of now. Admittedly, my public consists mainly of dirty old men who send creepy e-mails, but still, fans are fans. I would hate to disappoint. Plus, there’s the added problem that my dad read the column and asked me not to write any other “naughty” ones, especially ones about sex, because I “don’t know anything about that.” I also took both Day- and NyQuil before sitting down to write this puppy, so it’s really no wonder I find myself with little to say.

I’m stuck, and what’s worse than writers’ block is the knowledge that I’ll never compose anything that will top the sex/dying alone column. I’ve peaked. The highlight of my journalistic career was a mere 15 minutes of quasi-fame as a delusional cat lady.

Now I know we all love to see other people fail — it makes us feel less like the losers we are. But before all the Democrats I alienated with my first column start celebrating the downfall of a Dubya-lover, I’ve got a sobering thought for you: Most of you have peaked, too.

Think about it. Things look pretty good for most of us at the moment, right? We got into a smarty-pants private school where grade inflation and the promise of another $10,000 next quarter make it nearly impossible to fail. Can any job, with the possible exception of prostitution, really offer the same everybody-wins situation?

Gravity and old age have yet to take their toll on our looks. You think you’re going to improve with age? Not likely.

Best of all, this place is nerdy enough for even dorks to feel cool. Chances are, you’ll never do anything that tops all this.

So this pisses you off, right? You’re going to go off and do great things, aren’t you? Well I’d suggest you e-mail me and tell me so. In fact, I’m begging you to. Because it pisses me off, too.

And if I get 179 emails this week, it means I won’t have already peaked either.

Kelly Roe is a McCormick senior. She can be reached at [email protected]