I hate to say it. Really, I do. There's an addiction I've been feeding, quite irrationally, against any other sense I know. Oh, and while it's true that BK Mocha Joe's have recently been getting me through the week with its tasty, yet fueling, coffee loving goodness (I used to hate coffee, but then I let this one take my true coffee virginity, and I may be hooked!), that's just a pleasing treat. This new addiction just may be a way of life.
It's feministing. I'm regularly finding that this is a place that's just pissing me off- but in a good way. Serving as an eye opening expanse of real issues facing women today, this web site is pushing me toward an opinionistic outlook, and ultimately, a grasp on the journalistic world I hope to be entering in a few years.
Sorry Shel Silverstein (unintended, yet illuminating alliteration aside), but I feel I'm losing my connection to your clam. It's not all the same. There's definitely something, someone bigger out there than the clam. Of course it would all be the same within the tight protection of your shell, but your soft inside has so much talent, wasted talent in a shell. I'm no longer that clam.
I'm moving on to the larger world where it's a good thing that things piss me off. I've already decided that I will not be flying Southwest Airlines because of their rude treatment of guests and their decision to line up passengers like cattle before boarding the plane. I will not ever spend my money to be a numbered hunk of lifestock with a dress code. I've also put in my order of Sperm Counts, which I hope to be an illuminating and adventurous read.
Hmm... too bad I've put poor Humphrey Bogart biographies aside. I'm sure they'll come back around, Bacall and all.
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