I just feel so young.
Have any of you read Don't Worry, It Gets Worse by Alida Nugent? I loved it. I've never read anything that sounded so much like me before. She loves gin. She dates men who are no good. She's a writer with no idea how the hell to make money off of it. She's confused and ambitious and wants so much but she turned out okay. At one point she gives an imaginary speech to graduates or in my case recent graduates: life is hard. College was easy and the real world is going to kick your ass. It will make you cry, it will make you drink, it will make you wonder why you even bothered to get the degree you have (or are working for) in the first place. But she says to have hope, to remember your dreams. To remember the happy glow you had when the idea to become a writer first struck you. Keep the happiness handy, because in the real world the only safety net you have is you.
I started the book last night and finished it this morning. Right after getting my packet feedback, actually. It helped more than I ever thought it would. It was like the book gods of the universe smiled down on me and said "here, you're gonna need this in a minute, kid." Boy, were they right. I think I might even email Alida and thank her, that's how much I love this book. If you're a twenty-something girl like me, or actually even if you're not, I'd definitely say it's worth the read.
I stewed on this and on my packet work all day today, and on the drive to work I kept thinking how much easier my life would be if I was a tragic heroine in a YA novel. Maybe I'd develop some kind of disease and be saved I time once I met the new hottie in town. Maybe I had some latent super powers and a magical hot man would swoop in to teach me how to help myself. Disgusting, right? Why does there need to be a man in there at all? That's beside the point. The real point is that my life is not a YA novel. I am not a tragic teenager with a prewritten happy ending to come to after I pass through three or four major dilemmas. There is no invisible author to drop context clues for the readers to know my (sad?) fate before I do.
I am that author, both literally and figuratively. I am that author and I have some more drafts to do. Essays suck, and sometimes I can't brain because I haz the dumb, but I brain anyway because I like to. Life is hard in the real world, but we're all here to suffer together.