Now that I think about it, somewhere along the way I have stopped dreaming things for myself. Practicality (I think) seems to seep in far too early before anything is able to set and my subconscious empties the contents of half-formed wishes into the drain before I can even take proper notice of them.

This is not a good thing, I have aspirations, but they are real. Achievable and safe, not wild and daring as they probably should be at my age. When I was younger, at least I wanted to get into the stormy turbulent life of a “writer” but I don’t even say that anymore when I have to seriously consider where my life is going.