Any idea?

While I sit here, waiting for work to be delivered to me by a very late outside vendor, I have time to think about things in my life and wonder what I’m doing with myself. All of this time to myself to think about things bothers me, though. There seems to be not too much going on in my head these days. I’ve been tapped out of interesting ideas and stories and haven’t been able to tell a good joke or witty tale. All I have is simple and useless conversational rhetoric.
What does this drying up of my brain signify? Am I losing my ability to create complex things? Have I already used up all of the good ideas that I was born with, oozing them slowly out of me in a mental menstruation? Have I hit cerebral menopause? Or is this merely a slight downturn in my life of writing and storytelling? I do hope that it is the latter.
I do not wholly rely on my writing to validate my existence, but it’s pretty close. Without the writing and the small hope of success that accompanies it, I feel like I have no real purpose on this planet. Seeing as travel to another planet where my laziness and half-hearted enthusiasm for life will bring me riches and respect is probably not going to happen (though I hold out hope), I must be content to float around aimlessly, hoping to rediscover whatever it was that I had. The only problem with this aimless floating is that, in the meanwhile, I feel like I am wasting my time and effort with such uselessness as television, video games, and eating.
As I was sitting in my living room last night, having finished reading both David Sedaris’ “Me Talk Pretty One Day” and C.S. Lewis’ first “Narnia” book, I wondered whether I could write anything as good as either of these things. I decided then and there that I couldn’t. It’s not that I think I am a bad writer; I just have nothing to write about. All of the good ideas have already been taken. And the bad ones as well, I guess. I can’t write a story about a young wizard named Harry without looking like I ripped it off from someone else. And, since I’ve no good ideas of my own at the moment, I cannot write something new and wonderful either.
So where does this leave me? Apparently, all I have left is to spout nonsensical whining on my blog. That is all I could come up with while sitting here waiting for things to be handed to me so that I can make my little red marks and change the world one punctuation mark at a time.