Millennial Idiot Brain

If all goes according to plan, I should graduate from Chico State at the end of spring semester 2015. Unlike most of my peers, while I won’t have any money when I graduate, I also won’t owe any money in student loans. Which is pretty great. So instead of spending my time panicking about the government coming to claim my first born child as collateral for unpaid loans (joke’s on you, Obama, I’ve been sterile since I bobbed for apples in Fukushima radiation-laced water), I get to concentrate on the panic of what I’m supposed to do after graduation. In preparation for that looming date, I’ve been required to take several “Job Hunting” courses. My main takeaway has been that they’d really like to believe that Twitter is a viable job hunting tool (and not a sweatshop factory for churning out self-delighted quips in 140 characters), and that LinkedIn is not simply an online job fair with less enthusiasm than one you’d find taking place in a high school auditorium. The tactics being taught are puzzling (not “wrong,” mind you, I mean, what the hell do I know?), but what’s especially worrying is that I’m not sure what’s supposed to change after graduation.

I gather that the “normal” thing to do when you graduate high school is to use your SAT scores to get into a good college, graduate, then get hired at a job that pays by the year and not the hour, then marry, have kids, blah, blah, blah. But what if the idea of procreating makes you sick, and you never took the SATs because the experience of being chronically ill all through high school left you exhausted and disillusioned with the “supposed to”? Instead you apply to the nearest community college, only take classes that seem interesting and/or easy (I’m lookin’ at you, Sociology), stop attending college, stack up a fair amount of work experience in various fields, move away for a year, get in a car accident that leaves you emotionally, physically and financially (ahem) fucked, move home, win a publishing contract, try to re-apply to community college only to be told you’ve taken an “excess amount of units” and basically that you need to get the fuck out of their school, and only then end up applying to a state university.

I remember when I clearheadedly waltzed through first grade in my olive green corduroys with all the confidence and self-assuredness that comes from (as Sean Galloway has been known to say) being so young that life hadn’t yet stepped on my throat and spit in my face yet.

Well, now that life has in fact stepped on my throat and spit in my face, and I find myself on the verge of a milestone that the general public has taught me should mean something important to me, I’m not sure what to do. I suppose, mentally, I’m rallying against the idea of applying for an entry level job in a field that I’m not even interested in, only to blink and find that thirty years have passed and I’m still doing the same thing. Also, I’m aware that that’s a dumb thing to think, typical of a millennial, and that these are nice problems to have. What I’m really trying to say is, anyone want to hire me? (Broken brain and nightmare sense of self included).

Zooey Mae has been working as a writer monkey for Synthesis Weekly since 2007. Her favorite things include (but are not limited to), Jeffrey Brown, bubble wrap, Craig Thompson, pillow forts, receiving handwritten letters, and whiskey. She spends her free time stockpiling supplies for the impending robot Apocalypse and avoiding eye contact with strangers.