Maybe I need an attitude adjustment, but I can’t help but feel like this last semester of college could be put toward something more productive — y’know, like finding a job.


I want to believe my classes are important. I really do. But I have a lease that ends in December and a pending move back home; I have interest accumulated on student loans that will capitalize if ignored; I have zero percent of a post-graduation plan (aside from my aforementioned dreams of “Rock of Love” stardom, which have been shot to hell thanks to Bret Michaels’ new reputation). Some of my classes are great: an escape from Lauren’s Nightmare World of Unemployment. But most of the time I’m fidgeting in my seat, scouring job listings, imagining my life 10 weeks from now and setting myself up for a heart attack.

Of course, it could be 200 times worse. I landed my first “real” job interview this month, and I was ecstatic. But I’m a University of Iowa hostage until December 18 — my lack of start-date flexibility seemed to dampen their interest. Understandably.

I’ve heard a lot of, “Everything will work out!” and “You’ll be fine, everyone’s in the same boat.” I appreciate the optimism (if that’s what you want to call it), but it hasn’t exactly alleviated my anxiety. And nervous Millennials are a dime a dozen these days, especially in a college town. The amount of energy I dispel by being so ceaselessly spooked about What Happens Next could probably provide enough electricity for a small town in western Iowa. And clearly I’m not looking for a job as a science reporter, because that doesn’t even make sense.

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