I am 19 years-old. Soon to be a sophomore in college and officially dream-less. I realize the irony of the situation, yes, and although I should be all Martin Luther Kinging it I don't have dream. You see the thing is I am a realist. (in the sense that realist is just a nicer way of saying quitter). I did have a dream once. Throughout my whole life I had wanted to work in fashion. I began sketching designs when I was 6, I watched the E! network religiously and knew more about Giovanni Versace and "Coco" Chanel than I did of my good friends. However after graduation the time to kick-start my dream presented itself, and what do realists do in the midst of roaring dream engines...run far far away. I decided then and there that that dream of mine was too difficult. That there was no way I could ever "realistically" work in fashion. So I quit. I quit in spite of everything I had been told. In spite of having the words "anything's possible" nearly tattooed onto my skin.
Don't get the wrong impression. This is in no way a woe-is-me blog, rather it is an ode to the very essence of every realist, the abilty to accept. I have accepted my dreamlessness and decided to tap into my other interests. So now I am the every college student equipped with a marble keepsake with a much more senseable phrase entitled "Something's Possible."
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