Confessions in the Flickering Light

So here I sit, a victim to the drudgery of the common day. I've always known that I was prone to it. My kind of personality, my frame of mind, I wrestle with its symptoms, a sick man laying in his sick bed, staring at the ceiling because most everything else is just as amusing. I'm not depressed. Just remarkably bored. Dullness when I think this thought, Dullness after the thought passes. Nothing but the same reactions in my listless kingdom of ennui.
Why, the first fruits of this year, they have been for the most part flavored with their own inner thrill. What I write here of is a sort of an awakening. A heightened awareness, whereas even within the most mundane of objects, I discovered, gleaming inside, a whole realm of tingling fascination. The world seemed too much to take in. Every moment's passings were the sweet inhaling and exhaling of an observed lover. I could be mesmerized by the echo of my own footsteps, I could be tantalized by a fallen leaf. I felt myself to be a Titan and a child in one.
Boundless wellsprings of creativity lurked in every syllable of an idea, in every corner of being. I couldn't stop my brain from indulging on such themes. I was as a bolt-wielding Zeus with my hands grappling lightning and the whole shock of existence. But yet, I was not a god, far from it. I was man at his finest moment. I knew my place....and that was as the beholder and sojourner of life's grand passage. There were times of anger and disappointment and loneliness, but for the most part I floated from these shades of darkness to delight upon delight, fascination to self-discovery, from personal emotion to universal significance, and then onto fathomless creative pools to enlightened ideas of revelation. I was a bee in the vast field of nature, and every flower, every petal, I drew sweet nectar from and flew about in the buzz of a honeyed-song afternoon.
-And everything, I mean everything, pointed to the infinite and the limitlessness of the God-breathed world. For God was everywhere that my eyes scanned, that my ears listened, that my feet trod and my heart quivered. And I was aware that I was only and singularly in such a delightful state because His presence was there.
-But now out of this awakening, I feel that I am falling asleep again. Into my fidgeting, my restless, anxious longing for something to give me a stir, or the faintest vibration of a thrill. But existence can be so trite sometimes. And restlessness is my truest self. Hardly ever do I feel alive if I am not longing for something. Antic after antic, analysis after analysis to ward off the spreading yawn of this dull ache in my bones. Only forgetting all the while what being truly alive is. If I could remain a child of wonder in these dimmed times and cloudy places.