Post Graduation Dumps. In the Dumps. Dumping.

I don’t like being all Negative Nancy on this blog, but lately I’ve been down in the dumps.

I’d like to blame it on the gray weather but I know it’s more than that.

I’m writing about it because I fail to believe that I am the only one suffering from post-graduate depression.

That’s right. Post-graduate depression.

The feeling of worthlessness and waste of life that happens after being out of graduate school for months, many months without a job or anything of value to show.

I even took a freaking unpaid internship. That’s what freshman do. Freshman, people seven years younger without any experience.

And still I am alive, sheltered, fed, sitting in this room dreading my loan debt, my lack of accomplishment, staring at my book that’s three-fourths done, not being able to finish it, to power-through to the end because it’s so so terrible.

I warn you, I haven’t reached the point of completely giving up. At least I’m still managing to get on my computer and blog. That end could be soon.

I was watching Netflix—this reality t.v. show, and this woman said that in your job, your career you’re basically selling yourself, hours of your own life, so it might as well be a job that you love. Something that makes you jump out of bed in the morning. Of course, she worked for a circus, but she made a good point (even though I don’t plan of learning how to swing on bars or do flips on horses any time soon).

Maybe that’s my biggest problem. I never really stopped to think if this was what I really wanted to do. I mean I’ve been writing publicly sine my sophomore year in high school. I fell in love with it when I realized my words helped connect people from all different cliques in life.

But is love enough?

How many people stay together when both of them are poor, broke, useless?

Can I stay with something that doesn’t support me financially?

I mean I hate capitalism more than the next gal, but here I am living in a capitalist society needing to pay for things...and the love of something may not be enough to keep us together.

And maybe it’s not so much love as familiarity.

For now it’s hard to tell. But I guess it’s good I’m unemployed so I don’t waste my life hours on something I don’t enjoy. (That’s what I'm going to tell myself anyway so I keep on keeping on.)