The last semester of my college career was like pulling a Band-Aid off very slowly. Various life predictions crossed my mind leading up to the day of my graduation; things like, “I’m finally going to have time to travel and see my family,” “I can probably write my book now,” and, “Wow, getting a full-time job is going to be great. I’ll probably wait till fall, though, just to relax.”

Once graduation came around, I was so relived by the lack of work and constant deadlines that I had no time to worry about the zero amount of interviews I had received from all the résumés I had sent out. I travelled a bit, saw my family, and began to write several versions of my books that led up to nothing. Although I did not necessarily avoid thinking about it, after a few weeks I realized that getting a full-time job wasn’t something that just happened.

By September I had re-watched all of The Office and How I Met Your Mother (minus the last season because it still hurts), and I began to see the idea of what my future would be unravel. I wouldn’t be a published author at twenty-five, and Taylor Swift and I would not be getting those really expensive sundaes from Serendipity 3 in New York while talking about Miley’s new red carpet look.

Instead, I would be Little Edie and dance around my unkept house while singing to myself and trying to convince a documentary crew that I was famous at some point in my miserable life. Taylor Swift would not gossip with me, but instead pity me. And, last but not least, my caffeine intake would eventually catch up with me and — after a few weeks — someone would find me. My eulogy in the newspaper would be something from a ’90s alternative song (see “The Way” by Fastball for reference).

I am aware of how over-dramatic this all sounds, but as someone who not only went to school but also worked every semester she attended, not doing anything was a struggle. Waking up at noon gets old after a while, and the bags under your eyes now come from sleeping too much rather than not sleeping enough.

The combination of disappointment and an early case of depression could have been avoided with some sort of guidance or “pep-talk” about what to expect after graduation by a professor rather than the “light at the end of the tunnel” stories I had been accustomed to my last couple of weeks as a student. I don’t want to place blame on the great staff that gave me my education, but rather the professors who forgot they had students.

Thankfully, after many crying sessions, I found the guidance I needed from my older brother, who explained that the first six months after graduation are one of the hardest six months most college graduates will experience. For the first time since pre-school, school isn’t part of the daily grind, income goes from a perk to a necessity, and accomplishing something isn’t as easy as writing a really good final paper.

At the end of the day, all I really needed to hear was that I was not the only one struggling. Some people have too much pride to admit it, and others live in a weird Hunger Games fantasy; but, either way, no one wants to admit that even working hard toward a goal does not always pay off.

I still don’t have a full-time job, but I do have a job — and I love it. I still don’t have a steady income, but I’ve learned to budget. I’ve also learned to celebrate my small accomplishments while still dreaming about my bigger ones. Taylor Swift and I may never gossip over a super expensive dessert, but one can dream…