It’s a job looking for a job
In intern application hell…
Oh the great mysteries of life. When I first came to University I pictured myself discussing late into the night the big questions of life, port in one hand, a cigar in the other with a well stocked cheese board. Sadly, this image has never been a reality. Instead, discussions over why Beyonce is so perfect and why do boys enjoy Fifa so much are debated in depth. All pressing concerns in our lives.
The greatest mysteries of my life at the moment are firstly what on earth happened to me between the hours 11pm-9am last Thursday night? I’m fairly sure I must have been spiked after all that vodka I drank. Any information will not be greatly received as I prefer to live in ignorant bliss. I’m sure my behaviour was highly embarrassing so thank god I don’t remember a thing.
The second, I suppose more serious matter, is that small issue of getting a job next year. Oh how stupid I was merrily telling people three years ago “I’m doing English literature as you can go into anything with it”- umm anything or teaching? And whilst my medic and pharmacy housemates sped ahead to secure and successful careers I am visiting the careers department and having a bit of a panic cry. I highly recommend this to anyone, the women in there are so friendly and not afraid to go in for a hug- I respect that. What makes it worse is the fact that my module titles genuinely sound like a joke. Whilst my medic friend Lottie is shadowing surgery, I’m in a lecture about tramps. Luckily a fair few of my friends are also in a flap over ‘what to do next year’. My friend Annie has decided to apply for medicine and if that doesn’t work become an air hostess and spend the rest of her life asking ‘Chicken or Beef’. However she is dreaming big and wants to get “really pretty and skinny” so she can work in first class and have sex with lots of celebrities in the toilets.
I’m literally in intern application hell. I’ve heard and found issue with the expression “It’s a job looking for a job”. Well I don’t have time looking for a job actually. I’m frankly too busy trying to get a degree whilst doing extracurricular activities to boost my CV whilst maintaining some sort of social life whilst trying to achieve a banging bod for summer photos. And I simply must keep up with those Kardashian’s and watch Beyonce at the Superbowl on repeat. That’s very important to my life.
Whilst browsing the net for jobs and writing up a ‘personal profile’ I am left to seriously reassess my life and current ‘image’. You may have gathered that I’m just not a very cool person. For example, instead of making denim jackets look trendy, I look like a painter. And whilst everyone was going through their ‘Skins’ “Fuck it” stage in year ten and getting eating disorders, I was dressing in mustard cardigans with a waistcoat over the top and a ‘fun’ multicoloured pashmina. Luckily I joined the Facebook hype late and these images are lost in the depths of Bebo.
I am just not a cool adult. I am tweeteen who frankly terrified of the real adult world where it will not be acceptable to walk around moaning about how drunk I was last night and how hung-over I am and how I’m a joke at life. For the moment however, dear tab readers, I’m not going anywhere.