it is what is . . .but why is that?

am i a writer?
am i writing for my personal satisfaction?
am i deep? enuf . . . ?
would i feel better about “me” if i considered myself to be an “intellectual” ?
would my day be a better day if folks bumrushed my blog to comment on my thoughts - opinions - insights, etc. ?
what am i trying to accomplish?
what have i accomplished thus far?
does anyone really care about what i have to say?
should i care if “they” care about what i have to say?
who is “they” ?
is a strangers opinion important to me?
is this a form of therapy?
- - - -
considering that i am not the great maya angelou - i am not a survivor of the holocaust - i am not the long lost heir of the russian czar - i am not jeffrey dahmer - i am not an expert on any one topic . . . i can not say or do anything that hasn’t already been said or done: so, why am i paying for a space to babble on about my life: the life and times of an american woman in her prime?
i have 5 empty journals in my nite stand - collectin’ dust.

i guess i’m more interested in speculation @ this point, cuz the answers might be too heavy for a friday evening.