The Prodigal Son

If you're wondering if I've forgotten all of my dearest friends, who, collectively, are my one shining beacon of hope in this miserable postgrad existence, you can rest assured that I've been closely following your comings and goings on this blog with much hand-wringing and bated breath. In a good way.

I am aware that it's a bonified asshole move to compare myself to the biblical prodigal son through the title of this blog post, but I'm happy to be back on the blog scene, although I have no fresh ideas! I've been hitting the bricks hard recently, and the best thing coming my way so far is a job as a pharmacuetical market researcher. Yes, that's right, big pharma. Well, a consulting group that leeches off of big pharma. It'll help me sleep at night. Essentially I'd be putting my sociology experience to use analyzing the ins and outs of why doctors prescribe certain drugs. Or something. The job itself seems soul-crushing, but it has that really important quality of jobness -- that is, being a job -- which my broke ass doesn't seem to have the option of turning down.

So, RE: Cait, don't worry, I feel exactly how you feel, and I've applied for plenty of receptionist positions and been turned down. Actually a lot. That kind of sucks. And the alternative, i.e. soul crushing market research, isn't a whole lot better, so don't fret!

But on a positive note, let's please all visit each other a lot and enjoy the fact that we're in our early twenties!

P.S. I've made a conscious effort to use "yall" more, now that I'm up north, even though I was vehemently opposed to in while in virginia. I miss college....