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There was a time when nothing would frustrate me more than being labeled and thrown in a box with my fellow arts-majors.

“Oh, English. Sounds like an M-R-S degree to me!” – My Dentist
 
“You must have so much free time!” – Science Majors
 
“So…Are you going to be a teacher?” – Everyone Else
 
No. It is not my plan to be nothing but somebody’s wife. Actually, I spend more time working on essays cumulatively than you spend studying for the two exams you write per course. And no, kind sirs, I do not, under any circumstances, want to be a teacher. But thanks for the entirely unique idea.

However, now that I’m a whole nine months out of university, I like to think that I’ve matured a bit. That my eyes are open a little wider, my horizons have grown broader, and my patience isn’t quite so limited. And while my blood does still boils at the memory of that first comment, I have since allowed room for the clichés that surround my chosen field—even if not those particular ones. And okay, fine. Maybe I can even admit that some of them are a little bit true.

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How has it already been nine months?!?

Exhibit A: My life since I graduated…

I finished my degree! … So I started a new one.

Moved home to save some money! … Lived in a basement for four months.

Got a job! … As a coffee barista.

Scored a kick-ass internship! … Basically unpaid.

I pay my own bills! … My mom buys my groceries.

And you know something? I’m having the time of my freaking life. (Not sarcasm).

That second degree I signed up for? Best decision I ever made. Those four months I spent living in the basement? They taught me more about myself than I had ever known before. Working as a barista? Pays actual money! That internship I barely get paid for? I adore it. The groceries my mom buys me? Well…I need to eat.

In the evenings I do some (paid!) freelance writing. On the weekends I write for myself (secret *secret* novel…)…and to top it off, I actually work in a hub of creativity. I wake up every day excited to go be an intern.

Yep, it’s official. I’m a starving artist. I’m basically the biggest cliché known to mankind. And you know what? It kind of rocks.

-A

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