Why Write?

Sometimes I wonder at the futility of writing. It isn't as if I stand to gain much from maintaining a blog or writing stories for the online world. Tomorrow if I am dead and gone, my blog too will die a quiet death. No one will pay GoDaddy and Daddy will give the tag line- oops this site does not exist or something along the same lines.

I know that along with my body my words too will go up in flames. I'm no Salman Rushdie nor a Stephen King. I am just an average woman writing mediocre crap. There is gonna be no one saying - hey whatever happened to whats her name with that swing or some shit like that?

No one asks after online phantoms, such is the virtual world and it makes me kinda depressed. My value here is nothing and my words carry no weight. Morbid, depressing thoughts with much truth in them. I feel blue when my mind meanders in that direction and there is no feel good answer here but dull acceptance.

I let fun become a passion and attached my giant sized ego to it. Thats the unvarnished truth- its a one person show and there are barely any viewers. When the curtain call comes it will all disappear.

Funny how my dying doesn't cause me discomfort but the worthlessness of my passion to the world makes me depressed.

Why is it not enough for me to be remembered as a good human being? Why do I want more?

I tell myself its stupid- once dead, nothing matters. Its one big nothing but it puts a damper on my spirits, takes away the zeal, the need to pen my thoughts down.

I know its the ego talking, the need to leave a mark on the world that is all mine but truth is only few get the privilege to live through their work or like Robert Jordan feel duty bound to finish their work before dying for their readers, such will never be my fate.