That Unbearable Lightness of Being

My life, as I see it, is something that may be, in essence, taken out of the pages of Milan Kundera's The Unbearable Lightness of Being: just plain routinary. Everything just seems to be lacking of essence. What used to mean a lot has lost its magic. What used to be a matter of utter importance can now be put aside for other activities. Things done over and over again have reached a saturation point and has finally been overdone. And with the sluggishness and uneasiness this brings the inner self, it is indeed unbearable.

When shall a fresh infusion of passion and inspiration wake me from this stagnant state of being? I do hope it would be sometime soon.