You are enrolled in 1.5 classes.
You go to the college bar happy hour every Friday even though drinking two glasses of wine gives you a headache sourced directly from the fiery flames of hell.
You apply for 40 jobs a week.
You have been on Twitter for the last 120 days for 18 hours a day because the idea of being alone with your thoughts is worse than death.
You have a newfound appreciation for all the free stuff they give you at college.
Thoughts of starting a career under the looming threat of climate change fills you with deep existential fear.
You wonder if it’s too late to start making beats for a living even though you have no idea to make beats. You just have to record thumping noises. Right?
You are doing your best to squeeze every drop of health out of your student health insurance plan.
Every now and then, you ponder your loneliness and wonder if it’s even worth attempting to build new relationships and friendships when, at any moment, you could be catapulted across the country for a low-paying job that is better than being unemployed in a world where the gaping ravine of the class divide grows deeper and wider with every passing day. No, there’s no need to text that guy back, it’s futile.
You make a conscious effort to savor your time with your college friends.
You are preparing to join the legion of indebted Americans in the student-loan industrial complex.
You are starting to wish you paid attention in more of your classes because you’re pretty sure that you learned in Intro to Ethics that you’re not supposed to lie about speaking French on you résumé. Oh well.
Speaking to an underclassman feels like cradling a freshly born, shitting baby in your arms.
In the night, when you’ve reached the end of your timeline and you’re lying in bed in your dark quiet room and there is finally nothing else you can distract yourself with, you wonder to yourself. Is it true what people say? Were these truly the best years of my life. Have I peaked? Will my life just be a relentless, dreary cycle of work and mortgage and loans until one day I look up and realize I’m sixty years old and that all those dreams I had, all that excitement, was for a life that was never destined for me in the first place? What is peaking anyway? Can you ever even truly peak in a world that demands so much of you? Oh god, what if Russian hackers have all my information? Why is my heart beating so fast? Jesus fucking Christ, what if I have heart palpitatio—
You love partying with your friends.