This is the time of the year when my car decides to break down on the side of the road and I envy it.
You see, I’ve been clawing my way towards a singular day off for months too. But unlike my car, I can’t exactly just give up.
Some may say taking 18 credits, working a job and having two internships is a “girlboss” move, but it’s starting to feel more like a death sentence. Not to mention, it’s senior year. Yay?
If I’m not doing homework, or work, then I’m saving possible job applications even if they haven’t the slightest chance of accepting me. Or, I’m spending my nights applying for positions, knowing that there’s probably some AI robot just waiting to cross my name off a list.
On the other hand, if I’m not contributing to my future in this capitalistic society, then I’m fighting for the humanities and submitting my work to literary magazines in hopes to get published.
Either way, I’m doing work for the present tense, or attempting to secure work for the future. I assumed at some point the chase would be over, but now I’m not too sure.
When closing in on the end of something, the general idea is, and has always been, something along the lines of, ‘just one more semester.’ Just a few more months, a few more weeks, a few more days; but didn’t I say that in high school too? The countdown simply reset.
One more semester until I walk the stage and finally snatch that degree, and then … And then?
I’m starting to realize what little power a piece of paper holds. This degree isn’t exactly my golden ticket. How many times can I make something worth counting down to, before there’s no time leftover?
It’s a dreary outlook, sure, but I’ve worked myself into the ground to try and secure a spot in the job market, the one that keeps decreasing. I’m crawling towards winter break and I’m sure I’ll do the same for graduation.
Unlike my car, I won’t give up just yet, but your damn straight I’ll complain occasionally. It’s healthy to rant, to get it out of your system so you can move forward.
Enough about me. Here’s to a well-deserved winter break. Don’t give up just yet.
Yours truly,
The Chanticleer’s burnt out managing print editor.
