Death by Monotony.

As of late, I am afraid I have been suffering at the hands of a most heinous foe: Monotony. It is quite a cliche to say that one is "dying of boredom", but until recently I have not had adequate respect for the idea. Being jobless, penniless, and stuck in the suburbs I feel that my life wouldn't even qualify for the seediest of sitcoms. On account that I don't get into nearly enough mischief. Without inspiration for literary endeavors nor capitol for adventures, I often find myself pacing about my chateau. Of course there are more productive activities I could put into practice, but because of my as yet youthful spirit I scorn such things unless indisputably ordered to do said tasks. It occurs to me that those who may be reading this article may indeed be suffering in a comparable manner so to these, I empathize with utmost sincerity. I would like to add as a parting request, that all those who do read this please post an activity that they partake in when at the end of their creative rope, as it were.