Dear Kate,
I often feel like the world is ending these days. The registrar’s office keeps emailing me about this big day in May when my whole existence will be defined by a small slip of paper given to me by Dr. Arnn. Will I spend the rest of my life in a box because I couldn’t handle the pressure of my eighth semester at Hillsdale?! Dear God, why does everything hang on whether I get a D or a C on my last CCA paper? Career Services keeps sending me ominous messages spelling out my impending doom if I don’t visit them three times a week, refine my resume for the millionth time and compose the perfect cover letter. I’m a history major! All I know how to do is read and write second rate research papers! Who will pay me to do that? I’ve spent the last week sitting in my room staring blankly at the wall, stuffing my face with dried cranberries, afraid to step out my door lest someone demand to know what I have to show for the last three and a half years of burying my nose in Edward Gibbon. How do I free myself from this torment?
Dear Lost in Academic Purgatory,
I’m a senior too, so Lord bless us if I know. I sacrifice to the gods of the liberal arts a lot these days (which mostly consists of draining gin and tonics at Here’s to You Pub & Grub.)
Ok, let’s be honest. I wrote this question. Does anyone have an answer? I’m tired of trying to fix everyone’s stupid relationship problems. I need a job, dang it.