Writer's Quandary

Existential ramblings to follow...

I write about a character who is a writer, who writes as if he were a plumber who wants to be a rock star. Or maybe I am a writer who writes as if he were a plumber who wants to be a rock star. Its possible that I'm even a plumber who wants to be a rock star, but I can never tell. Sometimes when I write about the writer I become the plumber, and when I become the plumber I am a rock star, loved by the thousands of screaming fans in the Staples Center, but I am still the plumber, frustrated that I will never be there, but I am still the writer, only pretending to know what it is like to feel that angst, empty of my own emotions, but I am still the first writer, writing about the emptiness that comes with pretending to have emotion. Do I truly know these feelings of which I write, or write about writing, since they aren't my own feelings? Or since I write about them and pretend to feel them does that make them my own feelings? Is it better to go through life as the plumber, or as the rock star, or as the writer, or by writing about all of them do I live their lives? Do I become them? Do I fulfill my life as them, or in the end am I just a guy sitting in a Starbucks alone asking these questions as if they mattered at all, having never written any of it at all?