If you own anything with the word “swag” printed on it that isn’t a burlap sack you use for robbing banks then I hate you.
I just finished season 4 of The Walking Dead
WHERE IS SEASON 5?
I’m so glad this week is over.
I don’t think tumblr’s usual host of memes describing how done I am can quite cover it.
Your Twenties - An excercise in not throwing yourself under the 8:33 to Helensburgh Central (The graduate edition)
Since I graduated four years ago, I’ve read many an article about the doom and gloom of being in your twenties. More often than not I reach the end of the article clutching a bottle of wine and sobbing in to Paula the Polar Bear and praising the wise 40 something who wrote an article that so accurately reflects the low points of my life.
Let’s be honest, your twenties suck, they Star Wars Episodes 1-3 suck. Every June, several thousand graduates stare down the barrel of a myriad of difficult decisions.
Moving back in with the parentals
This is probably the bleakest move of any would be graduate. It feels like a failure, a step in the wrong direction. While some of your more successful friends are living it up in the city in happy relationships and crappy graduate jobs, you’ve moved back with John and Helen in Scrodville and face an official investigation every time you pop to the shops for a pint of semi-skimmed milk. You’ll find the friends you swore you’d keep in touch with, the one’s who stayed at home anyway, are the same people they were when you left, but you’re not. You’ve had four years of parties, deadlines, dramas, soul sucking part-time jobs and dreams of torrid love affairs with Adrian Hunter the smooth talking English Lit lecturer from over the pond. Sex life? No. Not while John and Helen are a hall light away.
It’s not all bad though. You’re in a position where your rent, food and 30 hours a week on tumblr are paid for by “dig money”, which is whatever your parents can squeeze out of you without feeling unbearable guilt. This air of financial freedom gives you time to sort out where you want to go, maybe apply for that post-grad, find that job or maybe save up to bugger off to Europe and learn French and wear berets and have le sex with Francois, the down and out poet with the beautiful heart and hairy forearms. However, the sad reality which will leave many of these folks sighing “it’s les not fair” (cheers google translate) is you’ll have to come home and deal with the harsh reality of your former bedroom/Mum’s new gym because this is the year she stops having a Mum figure, and the future. There’s a solid 60 years there.
Getting a job you’re overqualified for and most definitely underpaid for
I went in to restaurant management. Which is a nice way of saying I bussed tables and locked up a Pizza Hut 60 hours a week. This, you will tell yourself, is temporary. It’s just until you land that sweet 9-5 job in your degree field and spend the rest of your life making it rain with cash money. Wake up and smell the frozen cheese bro, the grim truth of this is that you’ll be so tired and so broke that finding another job is nearly impossible. When you do land that interview, be prepared for the interviewer to look at you down horn-rimmed glasses, readjust her pants suit and guffaw “Pizza Hut? Really?” You’ll walk out of there empty handed and Jim McGuffin, recently laid off 50k a year office manager and renowned pervert will get your sweet 18k graduate style job.
Working in customer service can be soul destroying. But if you’ve managed to go three years without flipping off a customer who complained about a cold plate that’s been on their table for 35 minutes then you deserve a fucking Oscar presented to you by John Travolta. You might make it to General Manager status, that’s the cherry on the cake. That’s as high as you can go until you’re 40. That’s where I am now and every time I make a rota or lecture an 18 year old on why time keeping is important a small part of my soul flutters out the window and the clickety clack of the 8:33 sounds more and more appealing. But you have money. Yay. But you work every waking minute. Boo,
The Eternal Student
Academia is the life for you. You never got sick of pulling all nighters and the thrill of getting between the lines of Paradise Lost is like a weekend in the Alps to you.
I still dress like you, I still have flat mates, I still eat instant food and I want to be you.
The Lucky One’s
You got a graduate job and by 26 you’ve progressed far enough up the career ladder that you are definitely not one of the twenty-somethings all these articles relate to. You are a like a myth to the rest of us. You got what we all wanted and it’s so easy for us to sit bitterly and sip off-brand tea, but well done to you. Seriously, congratulations. You probably earned it, if not you probably got your Dad to get you it. *Sips Scottish Bland.*
As I shuffle ever closer to thirty, and death, I look at my inescapable career and try and make do. I can’t afford to make it rain, but I can afford to maybe throw two quid at you if you catch me off-guard. The dream of “making it” is still there, but it moves to the side for a different dream, the dream of not smelling like burritos, marrying a rich doctor and living out my days chatting to the neighbour wives about what Senga down the road is doing about her overgrown hedges. Apparently she’s doing nothing, that lazy slag.
I’ve been a third wheel, a fifth wheel and one time a 7th wheel.
This is my first time being a 9th wheel.
I always forget that Banff is a proper place in Canada. Scotland Banff is where we go to die, like the Elephant Graveyard in The Lion King.
A good day until it all came tumbling down with some bad family news.
I need a hug and a diet Irn Bru.