Mid-20s Life Crisis

In 70 days (oh shit, is it really just 70 days!!??), I will graduate from graduate school.  I will have letters (3 of them, if we’re counting) to write after a comma after my name in my e-mail signature.  After 18 years of school, I will finally be done (unless I want to trade those 3 letters for a different set).  18 years!  That’s ¾ of my life.  So here’s the kicker – now what?

The way I see it, I have three choices.  Maybe.

1.  I could, for the first time in my life, prioritize my relationship first and move wherever Jay winds up employed and hopefully find myself a decent job that keeps the Purina One flowing and doesn’t destroy too many brain cells.  My track record for option 1 isn’t looking so good.  For the duration of our 7 year relationship, we have lived in the same state for a whopping 2 years because we have both prioritized ourselves and our careers before our relationship.  Not to mention, I have some sort of pathological aversion to marriage (which was recently re-affirmed when one of my best friends sent me a photo of her engagement ring and all I could think was “omg, when did we get old enough for that!!??”  BTW, congrats to Jillian and Ryan.  So happy for you guys and thanks for not making me go first).
2. I could find the job of my dreams, which probably doesn’t pay well and definitely allows Pauly to come to work with me every day.  With option 2, I will earn way less than my degree is worth but enjoy going to work each day.
3. I could find a soul-sucking cubicle that will one day turn into an office where I will sit each day of the next 45+ years of my working life.  I will be able to afford the convertible I’ve always wanted and maybe even a swimming pool in my backyard (for Pauly to swim laps, obvi).  Of course, this job will most likely lead to a Lasix/Prozac/Tequila dependency by age 30.  

I’m being cynical, you say?  I wish I were being cynical.  At the moment, I’ve sent out over 100 resumes to actual, existing jobs for which I am qualified and could be successful at and over 50 resumes for non-existent jobs that I’ve invented and attempted to convince employers to create just for me (I'm shameless).  Alas, I have not received a single phone call.  I know, I know, the economy sucks, unemployment is still at 8.9%, blah blah blah.  But the thing is, I’m good, dammit!  I’m good!  I’m smart!  I’m organized!  I’m passionate!  I’m educated!  I’m really, really good.  So why don’t employers call me?  Why don’t employers call my friends?  Why is there suddenly a surplus of ivy league-educated graduating graduate students huddled in the corner of the library consoling each other about moving back into their childhood bedrooms?  We’re all good.  We all deserve an opportunity to change the world, fall in love, and be able to afford a sushi dinner once in a while. 

That’s it.  I’m officially creating a blog tag for “venting”.  Can I get an amen?