Existential Crisis Mode

So my senior year of high school, we read a terrible book called The Stranger by Albert Camus (Ahl-Bear Cam-oo) that yada yada was an existentialist novel about how nothing matters and everything is meaningless. I hated it instantly.

Heaven help me, I'm starting to understand it. This is totally against my will and I'm pretty sure I'm just tired or something, but I'm beginning to see waves of existentialism wash over me. As graduation comes with a speed that would make anyone grip the handle, I feel very little to nothing, except that it's all meaningless. WHICH IS SILLY! I thought it then, I think it now, but I feel it more.

What's the point of writing this paper, why should I study, what does it matter what my resume looks like, what job offers I have, what I'm doing today, what I had for breakfast, if my clothes/hair/face/voice/life/car/everything meets some ridiculous standard I thought I had to have. It's all going to end anyway.

Ugh. I've been pushing off this post, hoping it would go away, that I would find the passion I've always cherished, that this tireless feeling of nothing would dissipate, but it just hasn't. I've gone from the girl who's willing to do anything for that adventure, the new thing, to the one who is finding it hard to care about much.

So as the biggest, most important four years of my life thus far come to that next chapter, I feel like all my hard work, the early mornings and late nights, the chaos, my friends, the crap I did/do on a daily basis just don't add up to the stress of unemployment, having little to no expectations of the future, and finishing the biggest goal I've ever had. Yes, it's my naivete talking, but there's a feeling of ennui of reaching this giant hurdle, only the find that it's just another bump in the road.

Yeah, I need to get a job. A real one. I'm tired of this. Sorry for the depressing post, but try reading The Stranger instead. Much worse.