Stupid questions writers ask

1. hello?  is this microphone on?
2. Am I a writer?
3. Should I adopt a name that sounds more authorial?  Should I just use my first two initials like J. K. Rowling or C. S. Lewis? 
4. Does drinking really affect my writing as Barton Fink says?  Should I abstain while I write for the sake of my art?
5. Am I really a writer?
6. Maybe I dont need insurance after all.
7. Is there a muse?  Where was she last week when I needed her and turned in her absence to drinking?
8. Does anyone know who I really am, on the inside?
9. What if they find out who I really am, on the inside?!
10. Am I a writer, because I dont feel like a writer.  I feel like a dork wanna-be who occasionally can turn a phrase but really should just settle for quiet desperation and be happy when the end comes because I have too many obligations and everybody knows that you cant make a living as a writer unless you are Danielle Steele or Cormac McCarthy or one of the other twelve writers in the world who lives on the proceeds from their writing, thanks to the Big Book Industry Publishers to whom they sold their souls for $0.75 royalty per copy while the fat cats get rich – oh, not the editors.  No, they get their $64k and pension.  Im talking about the top dogs who moderate Board meetings and give themselves 2.6million bonuses and disappear when the company goes bankrupt and thousands of employees lose their retirement.  for what?  So that rich middle-aged Barbie dolls can have a book to read next summer on the beach at Acapulco or on their husband’s yacht?  Is that what I do?  Because I might as well sell the lower half of my body to a college junior on spring break in Las Vegas because I am not willing to be a whore for The Book Industry.  If that’s what it’s come to, forget it.  I am holding out for the few hundred worldwide who read a book looking for a space to think.  And that’s what a book is – space for a serious man to think.  And that number drops by 17 every year due  to attrition, while 5 more are added.  So that our numbers are dwindling.  in the twilight of our age.  God help us.