This describes my mood exactly.

"All I know is that I would like to be somebody else, at the risk of being a man of genius, a great man. Yes, I must confess something tells me I would. I have never heard any of them praised without feeling secretly furious. I am envious. So when I hear something disreputable about their private lives I listen with pleasure. It brings us nearer together and makes my own mediocrity more bearable. I tell myself: 'You would never have written Mahomet, that's a fact, but neither would you have permetrated the eulogy of Maupeou.' So I have been and still am angry at being mediocre. Yes, yes, I am mediocre and angry. I have never heard the overture to "les Indes Galantes" played, never heard Profonds abimes di Tenare, Nuit, eternelle nuit" sung, without ruefully telling myself: 'That's what you will never do."
--Denis Diderot, "Rameau's Nephew"