I want to write.
I want to draw.
I want to play music.
I feel like my internal spring of energy for such things is flowing as strong as ever, but instead of flowing into this nice deep basin for catching, it's spewing out into a drought-stricken desert and just making mud and maybe a puddle or two.
And to take the analogy way too far, my work is the herd of animals laying in the mud keeping cool and hydrated. So I suppose my spring is being useful but...yeah.