(on) missed opportunities, changing desires, and disillusionment.

It's a very strange sensation, when you realize your desires have changed. And sometimes, it's been something you've wanted for so long that you had entirely stopped thinking about whether or not it was something you actually did want. That desire was simple fact. But upon re-thinking that desire, or, as the case might be, feeling so burnt out on the expression of that desire that you can't even see straight, it's a somewhat discomfiting situation.
I'll stop with the hypotheticals. I have wanted to be a writer since I was seven. Yes, seven years old. Before that, I briefly entertained the idea of being a marine biologist (I wanted to work at Sea World), but quickly realized the amount of science that would involve and let that dream fade. Then when I was seven, I got my first poem published. Professionally. In an anthology. It was a simple six lines, something about god loving children. Anyways, from then on, I decided I wanted to be a writer. And the thing is, I am. I'm a frighteningly short distance away from what I've always wanted to. I write entirely too many articles each week, which is a good thing, to a certain extent. Except that it's burning me out. I head up a monthly magazine, and I'm proud to be a part of it and of the product we put out, but it's killing me a little bit. I actually broke down and cried today. We're facing funding cuts and I'm terrified I'm going to the one editor-in-chief who single-handedly drove the magazine into the ground.
But none of that has anything to do with sexuality. It's just what's taking up the bulk of my brain space, instead of sex. Sadface.
Onto the missed opportunities and disillusionment.
I actually spent a little bit of time this morning talking to everyone's favorite missed opportunity, A. Those of you who read this and know me personally know who he is, for those of you who don't: He is my best friend and sometimes-lover, and we talk/im/communicate in some form on an almost daily basis, even though at the moment we are basically as far apart from each other as physically possible before you start coming back around the earth again. No, literally. Anyways...
We were talking about disillusionment with these grand ideas we both had for our lives. How we both wanted to escape our homes and live lives so much bigger than either of us. And how, presently, we're both homesick and disillusioned about what we're doing with our lives. Which are, for all intents and purposes, heading in exactly the direction we always wanted them to. Or at least thought we did. Of course, those directions take us farther and farther away from one another. And I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that hopes we'll both end up back where we're missing and realize that we've missed each other while we've been gone. It's funny. I don't have sex dreams about him anymore. By now, the dreams I have about him, we have a house, a life... and I always wake up feeling...happy. Of course, it makes waking up alone in my cold bed in this cold town that much more bitter. But the thoughts are nice to have. And now my ranting has gotten away from me. I suppose I should take the Beatles' advice and Let It Be.