Some grown ups dream about credit cards

When I was younger than I am now, ten years ago, for example, when I was half the age I am now, I had more dreams. Everything in my life was going to be a big deal. I anticipated huge accomplishment, but I never seemed dissatisfied with what I had. I would invent perfectly spherical flying cars with nubbly little wings sticking out the sides and jets powering the whole works. Aerodynamics be damned, I thought that a spherical air car would be the most profoundly cool thing ever. I was an inventor and a fashion designer in my own mind. I discovered that Barbie dolls were insanely difficult to tailor for. I dreamed up a load of things that would hit the market years later. I was irate, just a few weeks ago when I saw a vending machine in a rest stop washroom selling toothbrushes with built in reservoirs for toothpaste. I've been told that when I was little, I'd speak French in my sleep. I barely even speak it awake anymore. My nightmares used to transport me to other dimensions, filled with human eating aliens. I'd save the world of a night. Now, even my good dreams involve things like credit cards and modems. In short, I'm worried that I've lost something. I've lost my capacity to have very big dreams. I've learned to be a little too realistic. I've lost my magical, optimistic dream world and replaced it with a life overly constrained by reality.