Why Minecraft's Got Me Down (Or, "The Sandbox Blues.")

There's something that's got me down about Minecraft. As much as I love it, and for how excellent it's made, I have to say that it makes me really... pensive, I guess? I don't know-- uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable, but unhappy. Paralyzed with ennui.

Yeah. That's it.
Paralyzed with ennui.

I mean, it's a gorgeous game. Even for a game based around a set of 1X1 blocks that you punch until you make another pile of 1X1 blocks, it's gorgeous. No game has made me appreciate the majesty of intricately crafted blocky landscapes like Minecraft. The fact that I can say that with a straight face should indicate how gorgeous Minecraft is.
Likewise, Minecraft is tantalizing because you can do anything in it (Or. Anything that you can do with a set of 1X1 blocks, anyway.) I've built castles and vaults, constructed traps, and molded entire mountains to my whim. Water and fire have been my playthings. I have walked through hell and out the other side, just because I could (I've... Um. Spent a lot of time playing minecraft.)
But really, that's my problem with it. Once you can do everything, why do anything?
Or. Wait. That's a bit too dramatic.
I guess I mean, "Why set goals?"
What point does a goal have, in the end? I've built castles, yeah, but why? They look cool? Construction as an act of aesthetic expression is in-and-of itself a worthwhile experience? It's not like the castle is really doing anything, in the end. Anything but looking cool, I mean.
The best way to illustrate my issue is this: I started a minecraft world, and I loved it. I dug down into the dungeons and harvested all the ore and coal and diamonds I could lay my pixelated hands on. I built a castle, dug a tunnel under the ocean where glass domes sprouted like seaweed, had a railway system that threaded its way through mountains, and I had a goddamn floating island. It was really, really sweet.
After I'd finished my ultra-kill-tower, I stood at the top of the Tower of K and gazed upon my chests of gold and iron ore and thought "Okay, that was cool. What next?" So I walked west for a little while and climbed a ridge. And there was nothing but everything beyond it.
It's hard to describe the sinking feeling I got in my chest as I stood there looking out over the tops of the cube-trees into the draw-distance. It was something like... knowing you've got nothing to do for the rest of your life but pass the time.
(That was also a little dramatic. But I'll let it stand.)
Like, why did I build that castle? I mean, really? What impact has it had? Why do I want it to have an impact? Why impact, when there's nothing but the rest of the whole wide world outside your castle walls? What am I doing this for?
What am I doing this for, really?
The worst part of it was, as I stood there on top of the virtual ridge-line, I could imagine myself on top of a real mountain. I'd be looking out over the tops of clouds that pour through tree-lined valleys like silk through my fingers and I would think, "Okay, now what?"
What now?
And it might be that I've been spending too much time on the computer while it's pouring rain outside. Maybe I should go take a walk (where I run into the problem of "I've totally walked this way about 126 times before") or read a book (where I run into the problem of "I should be out walking or something.") I don't really know. I just keep feeling like I'm standing on the ridge-line looking out over the whole wide world, and finding myself tired.

Really, the only answer I keep coming back to when I ask "Now what" or "Why do anything" is "Whatever," and "Because I'm bored."

... Graduated lyfe.