Right. Wrong. The words that taught me that I'm an idealist at heart. I am a poet, well-associated with shades of gray; but even so, I find that moral assessments force me to place every action into one of those two categories: Right. Wrong. Around midnight I was struck with that frantic energy that I have decided is a symptom of hug deficiency. I got up and filled a cup with ice, and faced a very simply decision. Water. Orange soda. I'm twenty years old--this should not be an issu...