If Katy Perry were here, I'd tell her that yes, sometimes I do feel like a plastic bag

I was about to delve into a dissertation on ways to survive the next four days of February. Because February is the purgatory of months. And I have decided to blame it for my problems. But I was interrupted by a Google search result. Which I'll get to later.

First, some clarifications.

My problems aren't problems so much as they are decisions. But I hate decision-making, especially in February. And because it is February (and because no amount of self-help books have been able to make me decisive) every time I make a decision, I end up unmaking it five or 10 minutes later.

You see, I could tell you that I'm sitting on my bed, wearing heart-spotted socks, trying to decide what to do with my life. But that wouldn't be exactly true. What I'm trying to do, actually, is to un-decide what to do with the rest of my life.

According to the quote section of Pinterest (which I have spent many a minute on lately, since my current coping mechanism for February funk is using Pinterest and Dove chocolates to fuel my addiction to inspirational messages), I should "be okay with no one else understanding," "let go, and see what happens," "don't settle if you haven't found it yet". And the one that I haven't pinned but keep repeating in my mind over and over, "If your dreams don't scare you, they're not big enough."

Forget the rules and follow your heart, Dove tells me every time I eat a piece of chocolate.

But Dove doesn't have to deal with the repercussions of heart-following. Dove just has to keep writing "calories don't count" on the tinfoil outsides of their chocolate so people addicted to inspirational messages will choose them over Hershey's. Every time. No matter what kind of discount the other brand is offering.

I know what my heart wants.

I know, because when I let myself fall into a daydream about it, my heart feels the way it does when a boy calls you pretty. It's the feeling I got when my 11th grade English teacher told me I did a good job on my essay.

I think it's also probably how the Grinch felt after he saved Christmas. But it's not fair to make references to endearing Christmas movies in February. So forget I said anything.

Point is, when I let myself think about my dream, my heart swells. I won't bore you with additional adjectives. I think you get my drift.

And that's why I'm here, half-covered with a fleece blanket, on the last Monday in February, trying to un-decide what to do with my life.

Because my heart has gone all rogue on me.

Hi heart, I'm going to need you to grow three times your size for something practical.

Maybe engineering.

Perhaps you could climb the corporate ladder at a yogurt factory.

No? No swelling?

Well what about project management at a local company. You could work your way up to it. And I think you have the right(ish) skill set for project management. That could be fun. Right heart? Do you feel it? Best idea ever?

No.

Oh.

Hmm.

You know, I think I'll start taking a fish oil supplement. Maybe with some additional Omega-3s, my heart will be better at smart decision making.

ANYWAY, I thought while I was coming up with a list of ways to cope with February, I'd let Google determine my future. (Remember the Google search I mentioned 22 paragraphs ago? I'm finally getting to it!)  Since my heart obviously can't be trusted, I decided to let Google help with some of the decision making.

 Before I posted my first two ideas for enduring February: 1. find a lucky penny and never let it go and 2. hibernate, I typed in happiest place into Google.

I was going to finish with happiest places to live, but Google finished my search for me and entered happiest place on earth, instead.

Top search result:

Magic Kingdom.

I just.

Well.

That's interesting.

Are you trying to tell me something?

Or is this just a February joke?

Really long story condensed down into a 10-word conclusion:

I still don't know what to do with my life.


Happy February!

I just ate an entire packet of hot chocolate without the hot or the water part.

I poured it into my mouth like a pixie stick.

It wasn't very good. And it didn't really melt properly, like pixie sticks do. You kind of have to chew it. I wasn't expecting that.

That was a couple of hours ago.

Now I'm testing other methods of forcing creativity. I'm lying on the ground with my feet above my head. Maybe the blood will rush to my brain. That's supposed to help with ideas, right?

Or if that doesn't work I'll just do interpretative dance moves to Mumford and Sons Pandora station. Surely interpretative dancing will spark something.

In addition to the aforementioned procedures, I've also been checking Facebook every 42 seconds, as if, at any given moment, something inspirational is going to pop up on my wall. I know what it sounds like, but idea isn't completely unsubstantiated.

One time I read a quote on Facebook that said, "Whenever you feel sad just remember that there are billions of cells in your body and all they care about is you. Okay?"

Now, sometimes, when I feel sad, I picture little cells floating around with smiley faces like the ones on goldfish crackers. I don't think I have to say this makes me happy. It's assumed, right?

Anyway, since my feet are falling asleep, and I still have no ideas, I decided to turn to Google for advice. It told me I should be open to bad ideas.

Thanks Google. I think I got that covered. Please refer to the pixie stick hot chocolate experience.

Don't worry Google. I have lots more bad ideas where that one came from.

Next up, urban camping in Walmart parking lots.

Selling hand-crafted tinfoil accessories on Etsy.

Crocheting seat covers for my car.

Starting a hedgehog obedience course.

Painting miniature masterpieces on toilet paper rolls then hanging them from my ceiling like a baby mobile.

Jump roping after 10pm on the highest floor of an apartment complex.

I'll let you know how it goes.