Elegy for a life plan.

A few months back, when everything looked particularly bleak in my life, I wrote this fairly depressing little text. It's about the kind of hopelessness that grips you when you have no idea what to do with your life and that stops being exciting and starts to feel a little "Oh my god, how am I to make rent next month and will I be forced to move back in with mum and holy moly, I think this is a panic attack!". Since I have absolutely no time to write anything today (because I am so very superbusy! Yay!), I thought I would share it with you. And - just for the record - I'm really fine and everything's alright!


You wake every morning with the feeling of urgency. It feels like the last five minutes of something - all the time. You need to get active, do something, have a plan. You need a job. To pay rent, or food, or insurance. Because you weren't wise enough to study something that actually qualified you for any job at all. You start looking in the job ad section of your local newspaper, on the internet, you ask friends and family members and try to get an idea - any idea - what you want to do with your life.

Every time you write an application, you get excited. You start fantasizing about how your life would be, if you just got that particular job. You would be so good at it. And you would make money. Enough to buy a car, to go on holiday, to buy a really expensive dress. Yes, that job would be awesome, you are sure of it!

And then the rejection letters start coming in. Some are nice, some are unpersonal, some never come. Sometimes the personal manager will call you up, with this apologetic note in their voice, and you know, even before they say it, that they will politely refuse. And you crumple up your fabulous life plan and try to draft another one. And another one. Until you don't even get excited over your new possible life plan any longer.

You go to job interviews, where you sit and nod and smile and sweat through your blouse, even though the room is cool and chilly and you hardly move at all. You do internships where your boss makes racist jokes and sexist jokes and nobody in the entire office speaks up. Everyone laughs and you go to the bathroom, where you bite down on a paper towel to stop yourself from screaming. You reward yourself with sugary drinks from Starbucks after particularly horrible days and you hope, with all your might, that the next one, or maybe the one after that, could be a win.

You don't even care which direction you go, all you want is a plan. A hint to where you might be in a year or two years or ten years from now. Because even though you know that you are not completely stupid and that you will make it - one way or the other - eventually, that certaincy starts to flicker. Not often, not every day, but in the wee small hours of the night, right before you go to sleep, the doubts creep up and come sit on your bed beside you. They all look like they came out of an Ingmar Bergman movie, they wear black turtlenecks and they look at you gravely and slowly shake their heads. You are never going to make it.

Better give up right now.

(picture taken from here)

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