True Life: I’m In An ‘After College’ Funk

NOTE: In an attempt to revamp this blog the second time around three years later, I want it to be authentic reflection of who I really am and what I have to share. ASHLEMONADE is created from depression, fear and self-doubt. Most of all, it’s created out of my desire to share my quirks, voice and some inspiration out to the world or anyone willing to receive it. From lemons to lemonade, I’m trying to make something out of nothing. 

Here goes. 

Dec. 20, 2014. I wore 5 inch heels and I gripped that rail for life because my feet were tired.
Dec. 20, 2014. I wore 5 inch heels and I gripped that rail for life because my feet were tired.

A girl born on Epiphany yet doesn’t have a clue

Nobody told me that my 20s would be like this. I always thought my life would be the making of an MTV day-in-the-life. I often have an overactive imagination. I’ll be 25 in January on a day called “Epiphany” and my birthday wish is that I’ll have one because….whew.

I’ve had thousands of dollars spent on college, got a degree and now I couldn’t be in a more frustrating place than now. For months I’ve applied for awesome reporting jobs to get me out of this small Michigan town with no exciting opportunities. I’ve thrown my resumes to places from Huffington Post, MTV News, and too many others to name. Nothing. I finally acknowledged my inner desire to work in television and crafted up a hilarious (to me) spec script of 2 Broke Girls for the Warner Brothers’ Writer Workshop — which is currently 1 of 2,428 applicants.

The regular job hunt isn’t better. I got a reject email from Dick’s Sporting Goods and sadly, Barnes & Nobles. I’m not even good enough to sell sports items or books. I even tried to apply in person at a sex boutique connected to a strip club. Three minutes into filling out the application, I was small talked to death (annoying to an introvert!) by a guy who spoke like Bobby Hill with a lisp on how he sells DVDs and enhancement pills to customers. Clearly. That’s kind of the point. Before I could even fill out the education portion I just grabbed the application and pen and gave a “you know, I’ll just fill this out and bring it back.” I won’t bring it back. Five minutes in and I knew I couldn’t possibly work with this guy.

I’m trying to get out of my parents’ house for the love of God but I’m grateful I have a roof over my head before I supply my own. I spoke to a medium (which I found out is a no-no in the bible. Oops) but she saw that me leaving the nest will happen and not too long after I received an email by Heather Lindsey on a new piece she wrote called “After Graduation & Feeling Purposeless?” The universe sure knows what it’s doing.

Anyway, I’ve sat during spirited yet intense lectures from my mother on “working the jobs you don’t like” to get to where you want and my dad advertising my jobless plight to someone who works at a plant. Then there’s the back-and-forth of advice from one parent saying that going through the bullshit of jobs you don’t want and to pay bills to the other saying, that’s true and all but you don’t want to be miserable and feel discouraged about chasing your dream. My life in a nutshell.

Not to sound ungrateful, but it makes me feel even more crappy about where I am when I’m being spoon-fed jobs I don’t want and to be even more mixed up on what to do. Yeah, bills must be paid but you also don’t want to starve out your dreams either.


I was and am so conflicted. I’m stressed. I’m worried. I cry. I’m guilty at times of self sabotage because of doubt and deal with the yin and yang of pessimism and enthusiasm. I’m working on that. (Read a similar story by Jamie Rachelle: Where’s My Blessing?) To make matters a little more annoying, my mom found a stress bald spot in my hair. My dad responded, “Welcome to the real world.”

When I was 19 ready to turn 20, I couldn’t believe that teenagehood was about to end. I thought all of my teenage angst and awkwardness would transform into boundless expression and freedom of all the shit that wore me down. I want nothing more than to be a writer and to stretch that into different areas beyond a couple of newspaper internships. Television, movies, books, articles and wherever else I can take it. I’d pitch stories to online publications and hear nothing. I started to doubt myself and my writing which is the most horrible thing for a sensitive introvert like myself. I have a degree in journalism, thousands of dollars spent on tuition yet I know it’s not a field I’ll be doing for the rest of my life.

I’m growing tired of being stuck in a bubble, that I’m trying to pop, from this typical post college debacle where I’m jobless and wanting a chance. I want to get out of Michigan. I want to explore. I want to feel happy but I don’t. It won’t come overnight but I just want a chance to do what I love.

To sum this up…




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