Donations For A Lifetime Supply Of Pop-Tarts Are Gladly Accepted

I know the last thing I should do after not updating this is type a long rant.  However, the temptation is far to great and I can't help myself.

I am sick of not having a major.  The sooner I find one, the sooner I can claw my way out of my accursed fate of living life curled up in my friend's attic, nibbling on stale Pop-Tarts while rewatching Clannad After Story for the 101st time - during the few hours when I am not sleeping the day away.  That's if I am lucky.  Hell will probably freeze over the day Hari has to explain why she is housing a hikikomori.

My friend said that he could see me as a novelist.  Had I not finished my hot chocolate, he would have witnessed the greatest spit-take of all time.  I don't think I could write fiction.  If I had any inclination that I could, I sure as heck wouldn't be here, blogging such useless things every now and then.  And maybe, just maybe, I would actually be participating in NaNoWriMo.  

If only I had such talent.  Instead, I am a very confusing human being.  All the things I am interesting in, I am not cut out for.  And all the skills I have are very limited.  They are limited to the point of falling short of any career goals.  In other words, there just isn't a fit for me.  Since we are preparing for the inevitable, it may be wise to re-stock those Pop-Tarts.  Cookie Dough is my favorite.

Today marks three consecutive days at trying to make up my mind.  A few minutes ago, I figured that I should just take one of those "aptitude tests".  I have reached a point where answers generated online should decide my future, the makers probably know me better than I know myself.  Or so I thought anyway.  

The first time around, I ended with nursing.  How was this conclusion reached?  Something is seriously wrong here.  I have a phobia of needles.  Case closed.

I had no choice but to take it again.  I changed some things here and there.  That time I got culinary.  Should I just stop everything now? And I thought we were looking up from the bottom of the barrel before.  

Well, you know what they say.  Third time's the charm right?  Depends on how you look at it.  I suppose since my results got progressively worse, it is quite befitting that the worst of the worse would come up.  It did.  The final result read cosmetology.  

Hari, if you are reading this, would you mind telling me how much space you have in that attic?