Then I was young and unafraid
And dreams were made and used and wasted
There was no ransom to be paid
No song unsung, no wine untasted

But the tigers come at night
With their voices soft as thunder
As they tear your hope apart
And they turn your dream to shame

(love les miserables; and susan boyle's version of 'i dreamed a dream': what a shocker!)

every day i have a new dream. in psych we learned that when making difficult decisions, we should set aside one day in which we pretend that we have decided on a certain choice. how does it feel? then, the next day, pretend that we've decided on another choice.

so today, i am a speechwriter. specifically, someone like obama's chief speechwriter jon favreau. a mere 26 years of age, he was the force behind many obama's poetic speeches and led to the clinton campaign's snarky attack "you campaign in poetry but you govern in prose".
i'll graduate from a small liberal arts college (favreau graduated from the College of the Holy Cross: yeah, i haven't heard of it either)
i'll quickly work my way up the ranks of washington, jumping from campaign to campaign.
i get to help inspire a nation, behind the scenes.
i get to play with words all day.
i get to appeal to the heart and soul of america; help direct international relations.
damn. that's a good life.