What if I was called Goodluck Jonathan?

It was certain inside of her that one day she would find no use for being alive anymore and it would have nothing to do with health, need or desire.

She had never been keen to routines and rituals. She was too lazy and distracted for this type of commitment. But despite the lack of sense on waking up, existing and going to bed everyday, she just kept going. She can't pinpoint exactly when the mundane act of living stopped making sense to her. Certainly there were big losses in her life could explain her acts devoid of meaning, but for awhile she carried certain emotion inside herself that she would lend to the facts around her like a lace window treatment covering a dismayed landscape view.