The Graduate Part I

Merry Christmas .. Happy New Year .. Happy Valentines Day .. Happy St. Patrick's Day .. and every happy-fucking-holidays I have missed.

On the eve of handing in my very last Undergraduate report, I am incredibly distressed. Four years of doing absolutely nothing has done wonders for the prospect of future employment. I am hormonal, pubertal and mono-pausal all at the same time browsing through five different job-alerts everyday (approximately 150 job listings a day) and finding abso-fucking-outely nothing. The vast amount of disappointment is of course accompanied by non-functional advise from various people in my life and they just do not know when to shut the hell up. Let us not forget Facebook, who keeps alerting me when my cousin's brother's father's niece has landed that marvellous dream job at the age of eighteen or the many photographic (approximately hundreds, but who keeps a count) evidence of new-entrant office parties and various keg-meets after-work. The realisation that you're degree sucks is not a happy thought and it sucks even more when the mother exclaims, 'I give you permission to start yet another undergraduate degree ' like I really fucking give a shit about what you permit and do not permit your fully-grown-should-be-having-kids-if-living-in-ancient-times-daughter to do. Let us not forget the stories of how your father and mother also had a rough and slow career start, only to move onto comments on how you are just not fast enough to land one yourself.

Is it then a wonder why all I want to do is run the fuck away to Zimbabwe and start my own personal civil war in the heart of Africa? (Actually, I don't know where the heart of Africa is .. surely it's Zimbabwe?)

I am a graduate afterall.