I once surrounded myself in a comfy down blanket of the foreseable future.
I would graduate, almost with honors.
So as to not give the impression of pretense, or effort.
I would burst through my desired career.
I would make love to the woman inhabiting my bed,
and leasing my heart.
We would pop out weird, artsy, brilliant children that make names for the whimsical beasts among the clouds, and speak absurd languages of their own invention.
I would seize destiny by the throat, and drink greedily at the heady froth of greatness.
Things didn't turn out exactly as planned.
Though, that statement assumes we've come to the end of that path.
The path only got rockier, more on fire.
And I was left to drag myself uphill on the bloody stumps I had cut from under me.
Of the foundation I had only imagined.
As more blessings of burden rained down.