I have no idea what I want to do with my life.  Actually that’s not true.  I know what I want to do: I want to go to concerts, read as many books as possible, watch at least one movie every day, have dinner with friends…  You get the idea.  But as for what I want to “do with my life” in the career sense, I’m at a loss.  The best I can come up with is a governess for a mysterious, attractively broody gentleman who lives in a crumbling estate on the moors, but those positions are so hard to come by!  Also, I’m not crazy about kids.  Or living in time periods without air conditioning. 

So assuming that becoming Jane Eyre is not a viable career path, I’m left with few options that genuinely appeal to me.  Maybe the problem is that I expect my career to appeal to me.  Millions of people go to work everyday for the sole purpose of obtaining a paycheck, and there’s nothing wrong with that.  It’s just that when I try to peek ahead through the shadowy gauze veiling my future, the thought of spending several decades just getting by Monday-Friday so I can attend the occasional concert or go out with my friends on the weekend makes me want to throw up.  There’s got to be more to life than that, right?  And if there isn’t, then why did I spend gobs of money obtaining a degree and why oh why in Lincoln’s name am I even considering going back for an advanced degree?!  Would a Master’s guarantee me more interesting job options than I have now, or would I still be suffering from the same malaise only with the added burden of an even bigger student loan debt?   

I have a nauseating suspicion that this is it as far as the satisfaction of life goes, so I might as well start getting used to it.  At least until Mr. Rochester accepts my application.