If a blogger blogs in the city and no one hears, is she just a crazy bag lady who talks out loud to herself?

You have no idea how much I like getting comments. It's absurd. Out of control almost. I go to bed happy on days that my posts elicit comments. I'm nicer. Sometimes I even cook B dinner.

If I get one comment, I'm happy. My self-importance inflates with every additional comment. If I get more than five on a single post, I'm practically an ego-maniac.

I even like the comments that just want to point out what a horrendous arsehole I am because something I wrote affected you! We're making connections! Can you feel it? Kind of like you peed your pants?

Then I take a little trip over to some of my favorite blogs where I see that people like Jenny get hundreds of comments a day. Hundreds. Can you imagine? And then I need a drink and it doesn't even matter that it's only 10 a.m. And then there's dooce and oh my gah everyone knows dooce. And dooce sometimes gets thousands of comments. Thousands. And then when my eyeballs roll back to the front of my head I typically need another drink and I don't see why drinking before noon is such a problem for you people it's not like I'm pregnant, I'm just at work.

So then I'm all I blog for the joy of creative expression blah blah blah finding my voice blah blah and also blah blah blah blah and then I'm drunk.

And then I get to thinking which is usually bad news for everyone involved. If comments are proof of your engagement with your readers, which is, for many, the ultimate goal, then comments are your readers talking back to you, or rather, engaging you back. Conversing, if you will. So if 100 people read a post, and one person comments, it's like one person in a room of 100 standing up and responding when you talk at them. The more people comment, the noisier the room gets, the bigger the party, the more alcohol served, the more panties I find in the bushes the next morning.

So that means, on days that no one comments, I'm just talking out loud to myself. In my quest for attention creative expression, have I become the crazy bag lady who wanders around the neighborhood talking out loud to herself? And does this position come with free pot? Or is that where my pimp comes in? I assume a pimp will be involved. Unless I'm confusing the bag lady who talks to herself with a prostitute because did I mention I'm drunk? So, about that free pot?



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