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I can still taste my vision as fresh as a dream that I haven’t quite awaken from. I coldly, slowly, awake from these dreams to feel the frustrated release of the details as I float back into the sunlit bedroom. Dreams of me owning my café will drip  through the grinds of my coffee filter while I practice the flight pattern of the day in my mind. Ideals of being a professional writer float off the pages of my shopping list and out into the blurry realm of “things I could have done if only”. I look out of my front room window and expect to see brown stones across the street and skyscrapers on the horizon. Instead, I see duplex and more trees. The flag pole in front of my village’s only grocery store will be waving to remind me that I am still neighbor to nothing of notable importance. I could have been… I might still be… a smell I recognize has long since left the room.

I went for the jobs I trained and worked so hard to earn. Those positions were not meant for me. I wanted to be a proper adult and work wherever I was paid. So, I took a job that I was sure I could keep. I am pretty sure that I won’t blow this gig. I enjoy the art of making machine-made coffee drinks. I am learning to build a variety of ice cream concoctions. I can keep myself from getting fatter from the donuts. I cannot, however, support my family on pittance an hour. I found out that my manager, after five years, is still making significantly less than I was making in training at my last job. The worst part is that I will be permanently placed on second shift. Second shift, to a parent, means that your kids are about to be raised by anyone else but you. Not to mention, it’s embarrassing that I am old enough to parent every other employee I work with. It gives me the image of having obviously failed somewhere along my career path.

It is time to peddle the old resume again. This time I am not as desperate to get paid, as I am to work in a capacity that meets my needs as well as my personal expectations. You can say you knew me when.

I shimmer Gatsby in my heart. I still have hope gnashed between my teeth every night before I fall asleep. I have this vision of being a professional writer carved into my heart. I am madly in love with my affair with words. I am foolishly unable to abandon my belief that all those cliché quotes that my celebrity role models say can come true. Anything is possible if only you wish hard enough. I haven’t failed until I have given up. Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day in your life. The rhetoric goes on and on.

I will become a wicked artist, because there ain’t no rest for the wicked. There will be no rest after work. I will use that time to create more writing. Somehow I will have to find time to find a new job in the morning. Submitting resumes, and filling out online applications will take the morning before work. The whole morning, that is, that I’m not working with the kids schoolwork, or taking them to appointments, or going to my own mad appointments, or shopping, or going to the bank, making phone calls, or some other random errand that only the head of household can achieve.

I have to keep living like a real pot of gold is at the end of this eternal rainbow I’ve been tracking. Otherwise, there will be a failure to thrive. I must live. I cannot simply exist on the planet. Like the Earth, I am fire in my core. Like the Earth, I survive off from orbiting a source of energy. It is my inspiration. It gives me life. Like the Earth, without my satellites who orbit me, my oceans of soul will have no tides that ebb and flow and caress my world.

And because you are reading this now; you are also connected to my dreams, my hopes, my goals, my aspirations for existence.

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