Year One.

Nobody, nobody, nobody tells you just how awful life after college is.

I loved every minute of high school and college. As a high school freshman, I knew that if I were to exceed expectations in school work and extracurricular activities, I would be setting a foundation for a successful future. So, I excelled. I was busy 24/7 with extracurriculars, homework, classes, reading, and friends. I knew a bunch of people. I hung out. I was lazy. I slept in. I woke up early. I stayed up late. I was either a regional, state, or club officer for so many activities. I volunteered. I was an honor student, with over a 3.6 throughout high school and college. At time stressful, but I loved every minute. I loved being busy and knowing I was helping people. I loved knowing some people looked up to me. I loved playing a Superwoman.

And then I graduated college with a BA in Art History, minor in Humanities. I had a plan. Stay at my current full time job, just until my fiance finished his degree. Get my master's online through a prestigious university for museum studies. Get married. Have a fabulous job, preferably at the Smithsonian.

And then.

I was rejected from said prestigious university.

Fiance dropped out of school to pursue a full time job to pay off his bills.

And I am still at my full time job, hating it. Not having any more education under my belt. 40 hours a week of my superior, an old hag who can't put together a coherent, grammatically correct sentence, who micromanages to an extreme as a way to not feel completely inadequate. I graduated college almost exactly a year ago. And here I am.


Where I am now, there's not much sun except for the few summer months. I grew up in a place where it was sunny all year 'round, even on Christmas. I grew up yearning for a white Christmas. For snow. For seasons, at the very least. Why didn't anybody tell me to enjoy it? That I would severely miss it, sleeping in the sunshine coming through the window?

Coping is hard. Going to three classes a day, and then an easy part time job, and then a little homework every night is preferable to 40 hours a week under management who couldn't care less. 

I was supposed to have excelled by now. I was supposed to be smarter by now. I was supposed to be great by now.


I just need a plan. I need to write. I need to get it out.


Turn around if you want some inspiration blog about how great their life is. How wonderfully rich and cultured and experienced they are. You won't find that here. 

Maybe one day, I hope, but not now.