The Dreamer in Me

I've just started a book and it's inflamed my desire for things undiscovered by me. This Florence Wolfson was a girl far ahead of her time. I remember being so hungry for life and all that lay ahead. I don't feel that fire anymore. It's been smothered by unwelcome obligations. I loathe where I've allowed my life to go. I sit and sit some more. My sunny daydreams were replaced with acidic cynicism. Where do I go from here? Am I stuck living through the published dreams of one's who have succeeded? So here I am, listening to Nick Drake and sipping a coffee cup half full of wine... Will someone please remove the cloud over my head?