If a blog falls in the forest, and nobody hears it, does it make a sound?

"What sort of diary should I like mine to be? Something loose knit and yet not slovenly, so elastic that it will embrace any thing, solemn, slight or beautiful that comes into my mind. I should like it to resemble some deep old desk, or capacious hold-all, in which one flings a mass of odds and ends without looking. I should like to come back, after a year or two, and find that the collection had sorted itself...into a mould, transparent enough to reflect the light of our life."
--Virginia Woolf, A Writer's Diary

I don't know why I blog.

There's something inherently self-important and therefore kind of embarrassing about blogging. And yet, I keep doing it!

I also read a ridiculous number of really random blogs.

For example:

smittenkitchen.com
This woman posts the most amazing-looking recipes. I read her blog even though I've never made a single one of them. Ever. I read it mostly to look at pictures she posts of her ADORABLE kid. A kid I don't know that belongs to a woman I don't know. That's the creepiest thing ever.

younghouselove.com
Or there's these annoying assholes. They're a couple of newlyweds who are always redecorating their house. I don't have a house. And yet, I read on. Why? Their perkiness makes me want to slap them though my computer monitor. And I'm pretty sure that he doesn't know that he's gay. But he clearly is.

corporette.com
This blog is "a fashion and lifestyle blog for overachieving chicks." I am absolutely not an overachieving chick. I'd say mediocre at best. In the past year, they've debated the merits of wearing open-toed shoes in the courtroom no less than five times. Am I tuning in solely to find out if they ever come up with a definitive answer? Do I care? What is wrong with me?

I guess what I'm saying is, I realize that blogging is a strange phenomenon.

The best I can come up with is that I do it as a kind of diary. Like a virtual scrapbook. But with less trips to Hobby Lobby for supplies.

So thanks for reading my diary. XOXOXO

P.S. I don't even like Virginia Woolf.
P.P.S. Side note: Right now I'm watching "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" on the Discovery Channel. One reoccurring theme in this show is that the woman are mostly fat. And I don't just throw that term around. So, please, if anyone's reading, don't let me ever get so fat that I don't know that there's another person growing inside of me. Seriously.