I am a writer. Aren't I?

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It is Thursday morning again. How many more Thursday mornings will I awake to enough coffee for half a pot, out of cigarettes, nothing for breakfast. All my fans tell me my novel is great. Of course my fan club consist of my mother, my sister, and my sister in law. My girlfriend refuses to read anymore till it is published but assures me that this is not personal.
I always dreamed of writing childrens books. But being too messy and disorganized until I got this word processor all my attempts ended up in forgotten piles that eventually made their way to the garbage bin.
This idea of writing about a serial killer with a twist kind of sneaked up on me but went very well. Written in eighteen months with 389 pages 100,479 words. I am impressed with myself I can see it as a movie. Problem is is it will not be seen at all. The New York Literary agency say they like the story and believe it to have commercial potential but I cannot afford the $89. for the discounted critique. I am going to put up the money for an upgraded membership the first of the month when I get my tiny disability check. Of course it will not do much good if I do not have electricity or phone service which each are threatening to discontinue service if I cannot pay more.
I hate to sound like a crybaby and no one really wants to see a grown man cry unless he is one of the three stooges. I thought when I started this to make it entertaining but I may be too depressed to do so. I was able to use these emotions while writing the novel but they are now stagnating and starting to smell bad.
Oh well! To whom it may concern I am forty six years old and my life is going nowhere. I believe I have a good novel but as a new author cannot have it seen without giving somebody money and I have to buy cat food first. He does not understahnd this money thing and thinks I am punishing him if I hold back his food. Oh the perils of life. How could I be so pompous as to think I could interest anyone in my sick ramblings? I am but a dumbass country hick with a 120 i.q. and knowledge of construction that my back no longer allows me to put to use. If anyone is bored enough to read this Thank you I guess. It would take such a sickenly small amount of money to fix my problems that I would be ashamed to say. On the other hand my girlfriend, my Mother, and my cat love me so life is good and do not forget it. They say the sun will return from its trip to the middle east today that should cheer me up some. I want to wish everyone who reads this a happy life and good fortune. I think I will trot out and shoot myself now. Just kidding. I cannot afford a bullet.