Dream.

A dream.

A blissful careening feeling, abstract and fickle.

My job will be a dream.

 

From the brains of professors, a supply of knowledge was taught to our scholars, who, from their hand to an indifferent paper, feed us a constant trickle of knowledge.

 

Through this procedure, knowledge has become so condensed. So important and so incredibly powerful.

 

Maybe we’ve rolled our eyes, sighed, and put our heads in our hands, eyebrows furrowed. But with hearts heavy and feet dragging sometimes, we’ve learned, not because we had to, but instead, for the sake of learning.

 

We know who we are by now. The thinkers, the dreamers, and the slackers. Some of us have no category. But at least we know who we are.

 

We’re an amazing generation. Some of us have had opportunities of immense proportion seize us, and some of us have seized those opportunities.

 

It’s really of no matter how we got here now.

Because we’re here.

It’s what we do from this point that counts, from today, this hour, this second, this breath, it’s what will affect us.

 

And I choose to do what I love.

 

The pay’s not much.

Living will be tough.

The debt, from both school and just the cost of living in general, will be up to my eyeballs and sometimes I wont be able to keep my head above it.

But I’ll be doing what I love.

 

I’ll be friends with the alarm clock.

I’ll wake up to it, stretch, smile, and turn it off. Without apprehension of what the day holds. Without regret, without boredom, and without dispair.

 

Because I know I’ll be on the bus, on the subway, in my car, on my way to my dream job. And I’ll be happy, because I’m a dreamer, and my job is a dream. Careening, abstract, and fickle

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