May 22, 2002 | 10:26 PM

Ahem.

I am going to risk eternal uncoolness by stating this fact, but in the interest of full disclosure, I will tell you I am incredibly sad right now.

Actually, I�m going to grab myself a vodka-cran and toast my sadness. Hold on a sec.

Ok. I�m back and ready to confess the reason for my melancholy, but you have to promise not to laugh.

(swig)

I just watched the last episode of Felicity and I am way more upset than I should be.

I don�t watch very much TV. Gilmore Girls. Six Feet Under. Queer As Folk Sometimes Law and Order or The Simpsons and X-Files.

And Felicity.

I really love Felicity.

I never watched it until this year, and I got hooked. I think that Felicity has some of the greatest writing on TV. I think the acting is phenomenal. And the show resonated with me in an incredibly personal way. I will even go so far as to say (knowing how lame this will sound) that this season�s Felicity had a huge hand in me examining my own life. Does this make me shallow? Probably. Oh well. The point is that a god damned WB teen show was a major instigator in my own self-exploration, and you have to take such gifts where you find them, I guess.

For one person it�s Kerouack. For me it�s Felicity Porter and her friends.

I feel about Felicity the way I felt about Say Anything or Catcher in the Rye-- not that I am saying Felicity is sociologically signifigant in the same way Catcher is, but rather that they�re both such accurate and detailed portraits of adolescence and young adulthood.

It�s funny because writing about how much I love this dumb TV show and how sad I am that it�s over is much more difficult than talking about my experience being homeless. I feel like I�m being more vulnerable admitting this than sharing my inner turmoil over not having a residence. Does that make sense?

Wow.

I feel like a really close friend just moved away.

Good-bye Felicity. I�ll miss you.