Polka-Dotted Coffin

I am not exactly a hardcore feminist, or anything. If I was a hardcore feminist, then I wouldn’t defend dudes and post entries called “Ruin it With Prince Charming”, pointing out the common faults that females pull off in the dating world, and such.

While I do support womanly independence and the pursuit of bad-ass CEO titles of corporations and whatnot, I would have no problem being a housewife. As a matter of fact, if I was a housewife, then I wouldn’t have to change my mind four-hundred-and-thirty-eight times about the field I wish to grace with my presence enter.

Boredom has a tendency to capture me with ease, and the constant craving for thrill and adventure chases me like a fricken’ lightning bolt, or something.

For instance, today, in the name of sugarplums, I decided to ditch my master-plan of obtaining the CEO title of the rehab hospital where I have been employed for X. I ditched the sociology program I was enrolled in supposed to be enrolled in and I ditched my heart-aching desire to spend a third of my life working in a hospital.

The reason I so suddenly changed my mind was because I was bored. Not to mention, I dreamt of my  dead self last night, laying in a polka-dotted coffin, and according to Dr. Google I am feeling lifeless at the moment with no sense of purpose, or something like that.

Once I finished my therapy session with Dr. Google, I declared myself a communications major and jumped into the therapeutic pool at work bought myself a triple triple.