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Early 20s First World Complaining

I feel really directionless in my life right now. I'm writing this as I drink boxed wine out of a solo cup while listening to Sugar Ray. Why Sugar Ray you ask? I don't fucking know. I'm just bored and drunk while my 34-year-old husband is over at a friend's (that we happen to be moving in with shortly) working on their noise music project.

I can't go back to school until May because I used all of my financial aid to go to school fall semester. I am two semesters away from graduating with my bachelors in psychology. I need a second job so I can go summer and fall semesters to graduate this year, but January is a terrible month to be on the hunt. Even with my stellar retail and service industry experience. I half-joked that I could go back to stripping...my husband didn't think it was very funny (obviously).


I calculated our bills, which all happen to be due on the 20th, and it comes out to be $1,146 (beautiful, wonderful late fees) and we have $1,059 after just getting paid. That total does not include my car payment ($116) for my super fancy 2001 Pt Cruiser complete with 173,000 miles, rust spots and a hole in the exhaust. It also does not include the collective 5,000 owed to hospitals and doctors from when my husband was sick. Last but definitely not least, that total does not include the $583 (interest!) I ran up on a credit card buying food and gas and car repairs while he was out of work for being sick.

My husband went out of town after Christmas to see a friend in inpatient care right after Christmas. He came back with so many insights and ideas for how to fix our floundering marriage. I felt so hopeful, because I felt like he finally understood me. That moment of understanding did not last. C'est la vie.


I feel directionless because I hoped for so much more for myself. It's not like I had high expectations for myself. I didn't ever expect to go to an Ivy League university or live in a safe neighborhood. I just wanted to have a definite direction for my life, maybe a job that somewhat paid the bills. I wanted to be able to finally breathe and not feel like I was under a mountain of pressure. I didn't want to be a 22-year-old without a degree working part-time in a bookstore in a maybe failing marriage with an impossible mountain of debt.

First world problems, since I can still buy my $5 smokes and $15 boxes of wine. I deal with my life the same way my mom does, except when she was my age she was the mother of a 4-year-old who slept in the walk in closet of her mother's apartment while being the shift manager at a McDonald's. I really shouldn't be that depressed, I've gotten so much farther than most people in my family have. The cousin I grew up sharing a room with? Twenty years old with 3 kids and no high school degree. This really should be a Buzzfeed article listing the signs for an early 20s existential crisis.

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