“What do you do with a BA in English?” So goes the opening line in a song from Avenue Q. It’s a great musical because it makes puppets swear (giggle), and is also peppered with harsh truths like that one (you just don’t get that in Cats). I always knew my BA in English wasn’t worth much, but you never expect to hear it from a Jim Hensen creation (or close enough approximation) and being laughed at by a large who probably all have that degree or similar.
There is one difference between my situation and the one outlined in the aforementioned song. Ok, two: the first is that Gary Coleman is not my landlord, and the second is that my life doesn’t suck. I get work and it keeps me afloat, but it’s doing little to wipe away my debts from a recent Euro trip. It’s also hard to look busy when you work from your bedroom –and thus to anyone not physically standing in your room and observing you, working and watching Twin Peaks are practically the same activity.
Although said work is writing-based, I’d have probably gotten this work regardless of whether I had that BA in English or not. That said, I loved my BA and would do it again if I had the chance. But that routine and relative lack of expectation from my undergraduate days has since been stripped away and violated. I’ve never been one to stress about money or occupation before, but debts need a-paying. Also, my partner in crime/self-pity is now a straight and semi-productive member of society whose achievements at her job somehow eclipse the time I spend on Hype Machine and Facebook. I know, right?
I didn’t adopt all of the below steps, but if I ever scale back my freelancing stuff and get desperate then I will likely be turning to suppress the impotent guilt that will likely arrive shortly thereafter.
