Why are we here?

I saw a documentary the other night on Bukowski (Born Into This)If he could continue to write through all that, who the fuck am I to complain? Ugly bugger, prick of a father, drunk. And I happen to have arrested the alcoholism, a daily reprieve contingent upon the maintenance of my spiritual condition. Okay, so now what? Do I write about what a bastard I am, regardless of booze consumption, or better yet the bastard thoughts I have which make the bastard I am look tame? I meet men and think I am better than them even though I feel like they are better than me. I meet women who are bitches and cunts. Children are bastards and spoiled brats, uninteresting bunch, the whole lot.
My bride is involved in filmmaking. Screw that too. (I always reach a point within the first page, a point of self loathing and disgust that prompts the overwhelming desire to STOP WRITING. Enter Bukowski. He thought he should quit, but then another voice told him to “keep the ember alive”, and I pictured that ember like a dying firefly, pulsing its final moments away on my open palm. He received his first acceptance letter later that week, and he knew that the ember lived on. I have done very little toward achieving anything with my writing. I have begun, journaled, scribbled, and mostly gone on in my mind about how I am a writer. Yet I have not begun the gallop toward the requisite 10,000 hours of practice which may or may not amount to proficiency worthy of excellence. I’m guessing, if I’m lucky, I may be anywhere from a quarter to half the way there. Probably a quarter. Let’s look, I am now 35, and I identified this writer within at about age 13. Given normal schooling, and some added scribbles and morose afternoons sitting in diners as a 20-nothing, perhaps I could give myself 100 hours a year writing, realistically. So, 100 times 22 years equals 2200 hours, not quite a quarter of the way. Cool, so if I can keep this up for another 40 minutes, I will have made 2201. Eat the elephant one bite at at time.
So, still within the parenthetical statement, I have overcome the first moment of self-doubt only to encounter the second. This is where the Natalie Goldberg method comes in: just keep that pen moving...)
So filmmaking really commands a lot of our life, and I feel like it sucks. The vibe sucks, with all the smarmy little retro-shoe wearing metrosexuals, and all the... Never mind all that. I am here to give my sociopathic self something to obsess about every day beyond the fact that my soul mate has found something more interesting than me to do for 20 hours a day. Stay tuned