Quick Succession of Busy Nothings (or Somethings?)

There's a line in Jane Austen's novel, Mansfield Park, where the heroine, Fanny Price, is writing her sister about her life at Mansfield. She talks about the idiosyncrasies of the family she's living with, and finishes her letter by saying, "Life moves on, a quick succession of busy nothings."

I sort of feel that way lately. I've done thousands of random things, but to what purpose? I read, I write, I work, I cook, I clean, I avoid cleaning, I water my plants, I sleep, I watch movies and I go out with friends. But it's the same old, same old, and frankly, it's just old. I've fallen into a distinct and alarming pattern. I've become predictable!

Where is my creativity? I used to be overrunning with it. Now, I'm a barren, desert wasteland. I haven't thought of anything original to do in forever. I'm busy, but doing nothing worthwhile.

I know what part of my problem is. Part of it is a lack of greenbacks. But that's a poor excuse. As a kid I was entertained by a folding table, two chairs, and some blankets - all of which I had at home. I could spend hours with those objedts alone - creating stories and adventures. I didn't have money then.

So what's different?

I'll tell you: responsibility. I had so little as a kid. I have so much now.

I'm going to make a poster that says, "Responsibilty=Creative Suicide"

My one small glimmer of hope comes in the form of a job I'm trying desperately to secure. It would be a much more creative job than I have now. If I get the job, I think I'll put the aforementioned poster in my office - for me and all other creative minds stuck in a rut.