I had no delusions that my post-graduation life would miraculously be this spectacular thing. Trust me, I know my luck isn’t that great. But I also didn’t think I’d be well into September with no paying journalism gig, still sleeping in the same room where my crib used to be and debating the merits of Dollar General over Joann Fabrics for my next career move. Not that I’m knocking either of those employers because hell, it’s a job I don’t have.
Basically, I feel like I’m drowning in a sea of “Oh my god, I’m failing at adulthood.” And what makes it worse? The rest of my graduate friends aren’t.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m so beyond happy that my friends are finding post-grad success. It’s awesome! But every time a message on Facebook pops up in the “Let’s tell each other about our lives” post, I want to simultaneously crawl under a rug in shame and rip every last hair out of my head. Because while their messages spread stories of city living, job success and life as a person’s 20s should be, I can sum up my post-grad experience in just a few short sentences.
My dog died. My friend moved away. I’ve lost my gas station job, and I still like eating way too much food.
I guess I’m jealous. I’m horrified and embarrassed and a little bit angry that I can’t seem to pull my life together enough to even start a new life all my own. I wasn’t supposed to be where I am right now, having people give me the pitying looks of “It’s all over for you, honey. Time to give up on that dream.” I was supposed to be proving the world wrong and showing them that I’m capable of great things, too.
So as I move away from the college senior who had a plan to the college graduate who doesn’t know a single thing about her future, all I can hope is that someday soon something will change. That an editor will need a shoe shiner or coffee slave that could eventually turn into a writing position, because seriously, someone has to retire soon, right? Not everyone in the journalism industry can work forever.
But until that time, anyone need a dog walker?