picture in my mind

I've been thinking why I keep blogging when at times I feel like chucking this place to the dumps. Margaret Atwood has an idea.

Why is it we want so badly to memorialize ourselves? Even while we’re still alive. We wish to assert our existence, like dogs peeing on fire hydrants. We put on display our framed photographs, our parchment diplomas, our silver-plated cups; we monogram our linen, we carve our names on trees, we scrawl them on washroom walls. It’s all the same impulse. What do we hope from it? Applause, envy, respect? Or simply, attention, of any kind we can get? At the very least we want a witness. We can’t stand the idea of our voices falling silent finally, like a radio running down. - Margaret Atwood