I wake up every morning, not knowing why I am up so damn early, and wondering why I do this to myself every single day. I place my feet on the floor, rub my eyes, and try to adjust to the blinding sunlight that comes through my paper thin blinds. As I contemplate what I’m doing, I realize that the job I have is worse than dropping the soap in a prison shower, and I don’t know what to do about it. I rack my brain day after day thinking of things I could do to make this postgrad life just a bit better, but every time I think of something I could possibly do, I become unsure that I even want to do that.
Become a basketball coach? I would absolutely love to do that. Problem is you need to know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone to even get your foot in the door. Try being a comedian? That sounds like a blast. Oh wait, I’m not that funny and would probably get booed off stage. Maybe become a writer. I mean heck, I write for this site, that must count for something right? I sure hope so, but what do I know? I usually have more grammatical errors in my writing than a second grader putting together their first paragraph.
A lot of people say that you’re not supposed to have your life completely figured out at my age, but you’re supposed to have an idea, aren’t you? The job I have now has nothing to do with what I studied the past four years — giving us all another reason to believe that your major doesn’t mean anything at all. My job would be bearable if I had a good salary, or if the company gave a shit about the peons rotting at their desks, but they don’t. And that puts me in the situation I am in today.
What in the blue hell (Stone Cold voice) am I doing with my life? And the answer is: I have no idea. I don’t have a clue about what I want to do. Could it come back to bite me at some point? Yes, more than likely. Am I worried about it? Nope, not at all. I’ll cross that bridge when I have to. On the bright side, at least I have men’s league to look forward to..
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