I’d like to take a moment to get a bit personal. I have been MIA for a couple of weeks now and I sort of want to talk about it here, mostly because I am starting to feel like I fully understand every chick lit heroine I have read.
I think I have hit my Final-Year-In-My-20’s crisis. I found out two weeks ago that I didn’t get a job that I was more than certain I would get. I let my ego and my blinding optimism get in the way for months leading up to this. Allowing myself to make plans for a life I thought I was going to have without any confirmation of having it. If I were reading the same kind of jump-the-gun thinking from any chick lit character, I would hate her and argue with her in my mind about how stupid she was. If ever I felt more like Bridget Jones, it’s now.
I’m left glaring down my past with shameful regret and stealing glances at a future that is unclear. My form of dealing was to first drink a few bottles of wine and commiserate with friends. Once all the wine and company was gone I decided to hide in bed for a few days only opening my eyes long enough to log onto Facebook to post some vaguely depressed status update then delete it. (Ugh, what am I, 16 years old again?) When I found myself upright I quickly fled town in an attempt to escape my crushed dream and began down my road to denial. You see, I’m rather certain I have been experiencing the Kübler-Ross model of grief. I definitely hit Anger and Depression first then spent the rest of my time hovering between Bargaining and Denial. I say bargaining because I have come up with and rejected about half a dozen new life plans in this two week time.
Currently, I don’t know if I’ll end up back in school for any multitude of degree or certificate options I have explored, find a job I can stomach, finally write that book I’ve been thinking about, or in an attempt to pay rent, sell my wine and tear stained pillow cases on Etsy.com so that you too can own a piece of my shattered ego.
So, strap some designer shoes to my feet, a glass of wine in my left hand and a pen in my right because, either way, I think I’m writing myself to Acceptance.