My dream career suffers from a constant ebb and flow. When I was four, I wanted to be an artist or open up a museum devoted to The Wizard of Oz (my artwork more or less consisted of Wicked Witches and ruby slippers). When I learned to read, I wanted to become a writer (my stories were parables involving me and friends as all sorts of animals). In
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My little brother's list of careers made me laugh. Farmer. Superhero. Lawyer. Basketball player. Video game designer.
Mine's just stupid. Writer. Doctor. Writer. Physciatrist. Writer. I can't even write, damnit.
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