It's occurred to me lately, Facebook-stalking people I used to know quite well, that I may be close to that point in other people's movie lives that I shed my innocent starry-eyed dreams in favor of security and practicality and Republicanism. There's a point you cross when you're 24-1/3 that the realization occurs, let's say, and SHIT, you really like the idea of lower taxes and higher national security and fewer icky hippy legal union laws. And you move into a house with a yard you can keep mowed, and you can get a dog that you call your kid, and when you write (when the mood rarely strikes) you write in third-person and mix your tenses. And the writing is about your "kid," or about how you used to have ridiculous dreams or the funny story about cooking the wrong type of onions for the onion salad!
If there is this point to reach, I want to know. I want to see it, and avoid it a little bit, but then double back and make sure that my proxy fly on the dung heap is killed before too much preciousness is nibbled (metaphors!).