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| Thanks to pophangover.com |
Showing posts with label Excuses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Excuses. Show all posts
Monday, November 21, 2011
Monday, July 25, 2011
Confession
So, I have a confession to make.
This blog was an assignment for class. It wasn’t a spontaneous genesis of creative energy, but rather an obligation. And I bet, as readers, you can tell exactly when it no longer became an assignment.
…..Sorry, those of you who were faithful readers. I had fully intended to post somewhat regularly, but that kinda failed. Kinda epically. BUT I do still plan on posting. Just not at the three-times-per-week-craziness that was demanded from me before.
Now that I’ve been home for a few weeks and had some time with my head happily buried in the sand, I am ready to re-enter the land of the living. Or at least the land of the socially-conscious.
This blog was an assignment for class. It wasn’t a spontaneous genesis of creative energy, but rather an obligation. And I bet, as readers, you can tell exactly when it no longer became an assignment.
…..Sorry, those of you who were faithful readers. I had fully intended to post somewhat regularly, but that kinda failed. Kinda epically. BUT I do still plan on posting. Just not at the three-times-per-week-craziness that was demanded from me before.
Now that I’ve been home for a few weeks and had some time with my head happily buried in the sand, I am ready to re-enter the land of the living. Or at least the land of the socially-conscious.
You know you're a senior when...
It’s a late Friday afternoon at the library and you’re the only one there. The staff eye you oddly, wondering if you have friends. They want you to leave so they can go home early, but you know you won’t because you have three end-of-term projects due in 3 days.
You go home anyway. The projects will get done at some point.
Random dance parties become a necessary expulsion of stress.
You use the library’s media/tech services to make life-size cardboard cutouts of Alex Trebek, rather than for class presentations.
All the other students look like young children.
You would rather play with your Ultimate Frisbee league in cold rain, wind, lightning and potential tornadoes than go to class or do your homework.
You spend increasing amounts of time pondering your future.
You spend increasing amounts of time avoiding pondering your future.
You live at the local coffeeshop.
You’ve said, “Oh, well you’re only a sophomore. You’ve got plenty of time to pick a major” at least twice.
You know about the secret loft in the English building.
Either you have access to, or you know someone who can give you access to, at least one restricted area.
You have been to the houses of multiple professors.
Your cap and gown are in one of two places: stuffed in the closet, or hidden under the bed.
You wonder if they will really refuse to give you a diploma because your academic requirements aren’t met yet.
You have attended one or more “senior dinners.”
You know the best places to go in order to snag free coffee or food. (It helps if your college has a hotel on campus…a hotel with continental breakfast…)
You have underclassmen friends sneak you bagels and gummy bears out of the cafeteria because you’re no longer on meal plan.
Crossing items off the college bucket list becomes a frantic activity.
You take any excuse to go to the local pub: “It’s my last Stein Night.” “I have class there.” “All the senior Spanish majors are going.” “It’s the twenty-seventh day after Labor Day AND the second Monday of the month. Hoo ra.”
You’ve learned how to nap and study at the same time. Yes, that’s right. Mastered it.
You’ve fallen asleep on top of this at least once:
You get cool ideas to makes lists like “you know you’re a senior when,” and then you get bored and go do something else.
You go home anyway. The projects will get done at some point.
Random dance parties become a necessary expulsion of stress.
You use the library’s media/tech services to make life-size cardboard cutouts of Alex Trebek, rather than for class presentations.
 |
| Oh, Alex. You're such a charmer. |
All the other students look like young children.
You would rather play with your Ultimate Frisbee league in cold rain, wind, lightning and potential tornadoes than go to class or do your homework.
You spend increasing amounts of time pondering your future.
You spend increasing amounts of time avoiding pondering your future.
You live at the local coffeeshop.
You’ve said, “Oh, well you’re only a sophomore. You’ve got plenty of time to pick a major” at least twice.
You know about the secret loft in the English building.
Either you have access to, or you know someone who can give you access to, at least one restricted area.
 |
| Oh, those naive young days when I had no special keys to anything... |
You have been to the houses of multiple professors.
Your cap and gown are in one of two places: stuffed in the closet, or hidden under the bed.
You wonder if they will really refuse to give you a diploma because your academic requirements aren’t met yet.
You have attended one or more “senior dinners.”
You know the best places to go in order to snag free coffee or food. (It helps if your college has a hotel on campus…a hotel with continental breakfast…)
You have underclassmen friends sneak you bagels and gummy bears out of the cafeteria because you’re no longer on meal plan.
Crossing items off the college bucket list becomes a frantic activity.
You take any excuse to go to the local pub: “It’s my last Stein Night.” “I have class there.” “All the senior Spanish majors are going.” “It’s the twenty-seventh day after Labor Day AND the second Monday of the month. Hoo ra.”
You’ve learned how to nap and study at the same time. Yes, that’s right. Mastered it.
You’ve fallen asleep on top of this at least once:
 |
| You were expecting something else? |
You get cool ideas to makes lists like “you know you’re a senior when,” and then you get bored and go do something else.
On Efficiency
I’m not the most academically minded student this semester. In the past I could study like a champion, but somehow my efficiency has slowly leeched away and left me wondering where my hours have gone. Seriously, I used to slam out at least two papers an hour, but now even the most basic intro paragraph takes monumental effort.
No, really. This blog post has taken literally days to formulate. I’m so lazy right now. Instead of attending to that pesky reaction paper, I would rather sit on my bed and stare at the calendar on my computer, slowly watch time slip away as I quietly zone out. Ohmygoodgollygracious, I think dazedly, I think I’m going to graduate.
I’ll glance at the clock, desperately hoping one of my housemates will call up the stairs and rescue me from academic prison.
This is a new trend for me; I used to be a good student. I did my assignments ahead of schedule and had plenty of time left over for other interests. Reaction papers were minor annoyances in life, took me only a few minutes to BS. But now I struggle to find creative ways of saying, “This was a great event/class/speaker and I am a more complete person for attending.” Why can’t I just say, “This was a great event/class/speaker and I am a more complete person for attending.” Seems straightforward enough to me, but somehow my professors still think it’s insufficient.
Occasionally I will go to the library and schlep all my books and bags up to the fourth floor, wrap myself in isolation and try to block out all external stimuli. I will be productive. I will be efficient! I will get work done! Yeah! Boo yah! I just need *one* good party song to get me pumped up…and after 20 minutes of my own private dance-party-in-a-chair (thank heavens the fourth floor is usually deserted) I realize that I have done nothing.
Bad Self, I mentally slap myself. Back to work.
I change the music to something more soothing, a nice piano mix on Pandora, and immerse myself in paper-writing.
Then the sun peeks through the window. And it’s so warm. And I’m so sleepy. And the chair I’m sitting in isn’t particularly comfortable, but the one over there is a recliner-type chair…maybe just a quick break. When I wake up with a snort a half hour later, I scold myself again. Really bad Self.
Settling back into work, I’ll re-write my goal list, crossing out the things I know I won’t get to:
At this point, I have accepted my sharp decline in efficiency. Rather than crank through dozens of mundane reaction papers, I would rather hang with friends and bake cake at 1 am, or drink wine and cluster in front of the TV to watch Jeopardy!
I know I’ll graduate. I don’t know when I’ll next spend time with the people who have become my college family. So…it’s not actually laziness. It’s re-prioritizing.
That's my story and I'm stickin to it.
No, really. This blog post has taken literally days to formulate. I’m so lazy right now. Instead of attending to that pesky reaction paper, I would rather sit on my bed and stare at the calendar on my computer, slowly watch time slip away as I quietly zone out. Ohmygoodgollygracious, I think dazedly, I think I’m going to graduate.
I’ll glance at the clock, desperately hoping one of my housemates will call up the stairs and rescue me from academic prison.
This is a new trend for me; I used to be a good student. I did my assignments ahead of schedule and had plenty of time left over for other interests. Reaction papers were minor annoyances in life, took me only a few minutes to BS. But now I struggle to find creative ways of saying, “This was a great event/class/speaker and I am a more complete person for attending.” Why can’t I just say, “This was a great event/class/speaker and I am a more complete person for attending.” Seems straightforward enough to me, but somehow my professors still think it’s insufficient.
Occasionally I will go to the library and schlep all my books and bags up to the fourth floor, wrap myself in isolation and try to block out all external stimuli. I will be productive. I will be efficient! I will get work done! Yeah! Boo yah! I just need *one* good party song to get me pumped up…and after 20 minutes of my own private dance-party-in-a-chair (thank heavens the fourth floor is usually deserted) I realize that I have done nothing.
Bad Self, I mentally slap myself. Back to work.
I change the music to something more soothing, a nice piano mix on Pandora, and immerse myself in paper-writing.
Then the sun peeks through the window. And it’s so warm. And I’m so sleepy. And the chair I’m sitting in isn’t particularly comfortable, but the one over there is a recliner-type chair…maybe just a quick break. When I wake up with a snort a half hour later, I scold myself again. Really bad Self.
Settling back into work, I’ll re-write my goal list, crossing out the things I know I won’t get to:
- edit Courtney's paper
plan IR slides- read poems
column- blogs (2)
APP STUFFVWS response
At this point, I have accepted my sharp decline in efficiency. Rather than crank through dozens of mundane reaction papers, I would rather hang with friends and bake cake at 1 am, or drink wine and cluster in front of the TV to watch Jeopardy!
I know I’ll graduate. I don’t know when I’ll next spend time with the people who have become my college family. So…it’s not actually laziness. It’s re-prioritizing.
That's my story and I'm stickin to it.
Blame it on the...stress
I stole the title of this post from a song, “Blame It (On the Alcohol)” by Jamie Foxx. Good song for running and dancing. Maybe not so good for attaching to my name in the public blogosphere. So...blame it on the alcohol stress.
Really. I don’t drink copious amounts of alcohol on a regular basis, so I can’t usually blame my klutzy behavior on being tipsy. Thus, when you see me acting klutzy…that’s just me. Totally sober. For a while I aspired to be like my sister (the Sis), the graceful ballerina, but I’ve kind-of given up on that. (Kind-of…)
Actually, I have another theory.
Sometimes, I believe STRESS makes us do or say things that a normal person wouldn’t do or say. Stress negatively affects us in a variety of ways, ranging from exploding at a friend because she asked you to pass the salt (couldn’t she see I was busy?!) to tripping in public (from lack of sleep, of course).
Allow me to list just a few ways in which stress can de-rail your life:
Sentences that don’t make sense.
“My, what quiet feet you have!” Clearly an insensitive individual has snuck up on a stressed student, and the stressed student responded in a charming but unconventional way.
[To a guy]: “Your hair inspires poetry.” …No explanation. Stress level must be off the charts.
Forgetting or mentally re-arranging the times of important meetings.
You drag yourself out of the warm cocoon of bed to show up for an 8 am appointment. Realize that you’ve nearly beaten the receptionist there, as she is just setting down her coat and purse. She tells you that the business isn’t even open at 8 and she doesn’t know how you got in the building.
Increasing inability to read.
You might explain to your housemate, “Huh, this feta cheese tastes funny...kinda flavorless. Like it’s fat free or something. But I know it’s the same feta I’ve always bought.” You look bewilderedly at the plastic container.
Your housemate says, gently, as if to a child, “Um, it says FAT FREE on the label. In big blue letters.”
You stare at the container. You feel ashamed. You also wonder why anyone would buy fat free feta cheese; you might as well sprinkle snow on your food for all the flavor that fat free feta adds.
Not seeing things that are right in front of you.
Like one of those huge yellow plastic triangles that proclaims, Caution! Wet floor! You will either slip and fall on the wet floor, or you will avoid that clichéd ending and simply trip over the sign itself, sending it clattering across wet tile. In either case, you will feel like an idiot. If you’re really lucky, you’ll fall in a public place so everyone can watch.
I personally experienced ¾ of these events, and I’m quite certain that all of them were due to stress. It had absolutely nothing to do with innate clumsiness. Nothing at all.
Beware: if it happened to me, it could happen to you too. Or maybe it already has – feel free to post your own advice or experiences in the comments!
Really. I don’t drink copious amounts of alcohol on a regular basis, so I can’t usually blame my klutzy behavior on being tipsy. Thus, when you see me acting klutzy…that’s just me. Totally sober. For a while I aspired to be like my sister (the Sis), the graceful ballerina, but I’ve kind-of given up on that. (Kind-of…)
Actually, I have another theory.
Sometimes, I believe STRESS makes us do or say things that a normal person wouldn’t do or say. Stress negatively affects us in a variety of ways, ranging from exploding at a friend because she asked you to pass the salt (couldn’t she see I was busy?!) to tripping in public (from lack of sleep, of course).
Allow me to list just a few ways in which stress can de-rail your life:
Sentences that don’t make sense.
“My, what quiet feet you have!” Clearly an insensitive individual has snuck up on a stressed student, and the stressed student responded in a charming but unconventional way.
[To a guy]: “Your hair inspires poetry.” …No explanation. Stress level must be off the charts.
Forgetting or mentally re-arranging the times of important meetings.
You drag yourself out of the warm cocoon of bed to show up for an 8 am appointment. Realize that you’ve nearly beaten the receptionist there, as she is just setting down her coat and purse. She tells you that the business isn’t even open at 8 and she doesn’t know how you got in the building.
Increasing inability to read.
You might explain to your housemate, “Huh, this feta cheese tastes funny...kinda flavorless. Like it’s fat free or something. But I know it’s the same feta I’ve always bought.” You look bewilderedly at the plastic container.
Your housemate says, gently, as if to a child, “Um, it says FAT FREE on the label. In big blue letters.”
You stare at the container. You feel ashamed. You also wonder why anyone would buy fat free feta cheese; you might as well sprinkle snow on your food for all the flavor that fat free feta adds.
Not seeing things that are right in front of you.
Like one of those huge yellow plastic triangles that proclaims, Caution! Wet floor! You will either slip and fall on the wet floor, or you will avoid that clichéd ending and simply trip over the sign itself, sending it clattering across wet tile. In either case, you will feel like an idiot. If you’re really lucky, you’ll fall in a public place so everyone can watch.
I personally experienced ¾ of these events, and I’m quite certain that all of them were due to stress. It had absolutely nothing to do with innate clumsiness. Nothing at all.
Beware: if it happened to me, it could happen to you too. Or maybe it already has – feel free to post your own advice or experiences in the comments!
The Back-up Plan
Since I am set to graduate in 6 short weeks and still cannot boast of any job prospects, I thought I would boast about something else: the back-up plan.
The back-up plan is a beautiful and fluid concept. Let me explain why.
1. It can morph to keep up with your continually changing interests.
I thought I wanted to be a children’s author – turns out children scare me! Backup plan: I’ll write romances instead, because they definitely don’t scare ANYONE.
2. It can grow more or less outlandish depending on the degree of hysteria with which you view your future. Back-up plan: Skydiving! Skydiving forever! (Wait, I have no money…New back-up plan…)
3. If you mix a certain amount of irresponsibility with an appropriate amount of fun with a healthy dose of money-making, it will result in a back-up plan that will simultaneously surprise/dismay your audience and make them slightly jealous.
You: I’m moving in with my cousin for a while, gonna enjoy life and waitress on the side.
Audience: [thinking]…..Ooooo, what a waste; she’s such a smart girl….
You: Yeah, my cousin lives in Hawaii. I was thinking I would also freelance for a newspaper there, and that could lead to a more official job.
If appropriately applied, this method will elicit an “Oh, wow, that sounds wonderful…I wish I had the courage to do that.”
4. Make your back-up plan sound funny, yet still contain a viable option for the future.
What you say: “Instead of graduating, I’m going to purposefully fail all my classes. Stick around for another few years, pick up those other two majors I wanted.”
What you mean: stay in school and avoid the job search. [That’s the easy way out, grad schoolers.]
5. Make your back-up plan just sound funny.
I’m going to make this blog FAMOUS and then I’ll turn it into a book and make lots of money selling it to other desperate grads! Lots of money = job not necessary!
Personally, right now I’m betting on #5.
The back-up plan is a beautiful and fluid concept. Let me explain why.
1. It can morph to keep up with your continually changing interests.
I thought I wanted to be a children’s author – turns out children scare me! Backup plan: I’ll write romances instead, because they definitely don’t scare ANYONE.
2. It can grow more or less outlandish depending on the degree of hysteria with which you view your future. Back-up plan: Skydiving! Skydiving forever! (Wait, I have no money…New back-up plan…)
3. If you mix a certain amount of irresponsibility with an appropriate amount of fun with a healthy dose of money-making, it will result in a back-up plan that will simultaneously surprise/dismay your audience and make them slightly jealous.
You: I’m moving in with my cousin for a while, gonna enjoy life and waitress on the side.
Audience: [thinking]…..Ooooo, what a waste; she’s such a smart girl….
You: Yeah, my cousin lives in Hawaii. I was thinking I would also freelance for a newspaper there, and that could lead to a more official job.
If appropriately applied, this method will elicit an “Oh, wow, that sounds wonderful…I wish I had the courage to do that.”
4. Make your back-up plan sound funny, yet still contain a viable option for the future.
What you say: “Instead of graduating, I’m going to purposefully fail all my classes. Stick around for another few years, pick up those other two majors I wanted.”
What you mean: stay in school and avoid the job search. [That’s the easy way out, grad schoolers.]
5. Make your back-up plan just sound funny.
I’m going to make this blog FAMOUS and then I’ll turn it into a book and make lots of money selling it to other desperate grads! Lots of money = job not necessary!
Personally, right now I’m betting on #5.
Procrastination: Our Real Job
I’m no numbers major, but I made this graph and I firmly believe it states pure truth.
On the x-axis we have the semester in school, and on the y-axis we have the scale for the necessity of doing things other than homework. This scale should normally reach an absolute maximum of 20.
Look at the graph again.
I believe that’s what my math and science friends would call a “positive , or direct, relationship.” Yeah. Is there a technical term for that huge jump at the end?
Second-semester seniors make it our job to procrastinate. Some have correctly labeled this a disease: senioritis. Debilitating, and extremely contagious.
Procrastination evolves over a student’s lifetime. It has to. “My dog ate my homework” just won’t cut it in college – neither will “I swear, Professor, someone broke into my dorm and stole all my books!” Students need upper-level excuses to match our upper-level education.
This means that “procrastination” and “excuses” are two words that must morph into something new. They must grow, stretch beyond their original boundaries, discover things about themselves that they never thought were possible. (Maybe that’s what we students are supposed to do too?)
“Procrastination” learns that she will actually become “re-prioritizing.” Yes, that paper needs to be written, but first let’s deal with the huge pile of laundry stinking up the room. Hmm, I should attend that evening guest speaker, but my friends are going bowling – it’s my last semester and I need bonding time with them; who knows when I’ll get it again?
“Excuses” fades into nothingness; by the time we’re all seniors we simply don’t offer them anymore. We are adults, well able to manage our time and arrive punctually if we wish/don’t wish. We also know our professors won’t believe our explanations anyway. (There is a caveat to this, to be explained in another post.)
Since I’ve already used this post to branch from my humanities majors into mathematics (remember my awesome graph?), I think I’ll delve into psychology as well. In future posts I will attempt to analyze student behavioral patterns in order to discern how our brains rationalize certain events, people, or circumstances as more important than homework.
Yeah, right.
On the x-axis we have the semester in school, and on the y-axis we have the scale for the necessity of doing things other than homework. This scale should normally reach an absolute maximum of 20.
Look at the graph again.
I believe that’s what my math and science friends would call a “positive , or direct, relationship.” Yeah. Is there a technical term for that huge jump at the end?
Second-semester seniors make it our job to procrastinate. Some have correctly labeled this a disease: senioritis. Debilitating, and extremely contagious.
Procrastination evolves over a student’s lifetime. It has to. “My dog ate my homework” just won’t cut it in college – neither will “I swear, Professor, someone broke into my dorm and stole all my books!” Students need upper-level excuses to match our upper-level education.
This means that “procrastination” and “excuses” are two words that must morph into something new. They must grow, stretch beyond their original boundaries, discover things about themselves that they never thought were possible. (Maybe that’s what we students are supposed to do too?)
“Procrastination” learns that she will actually become “re-prioritizing.” Yes, that paper needs to be written, but first let’s deal with the huge pile of laundry stinking up the room. Hmm, I should attend that evening guest speaker, but my friends are going bowling – it’s my last semester and I need bonding time with them; who knows when I’ll get it again?
“Excuses” fades into nothingness; by the time we’re all seniors we simply don’t offer them anymore. We are adults, well able to manage our time and arrive punctually if we wish/don’t wish. We also know our professors won’t believe our explanations anyway. (There is a caveat to this, to be explained in another post.)
Since I’ve already used this post to branch from my humanities majors into mathematics (remember my awesome graph?), I think I’ll delve into psychology as well. In future posts I will attempt to analyze student behavioral patterns in order to discern how our brains rationalize certain events, people, or circumstances as more important than homework.
Yeah, right.
The Question
I’ve discovered -- through four years of dedicated undergraduate work -- that answering the same question over and over again is actually not so fun.
In my first year of college all the freshmen engaged in this. We were desperate to make friends. I developed a set of standard answers and grew accustomed to the standard responses: “Wow, you have a really unusual name. No, I mean it’s really pretty!” [Thanks….?] “You’re from Montana? Wow, that is so cool.” [I know.] “How did you end up in Michigan?” “You’re a twin? Wow, that’s awesome…does she go here?”
When I studied abroad it was the same phenomenon. Now, as a senior back at my home institution, once again I cannot escape it. Only this time, the phenomenon limits itself to just one question. Sometimes it comes in sneaky disguises, but it always strips down to the same thing.
What are you doing after college?
This question tends to inspire involuntary physical responses among students, ranging from the subtle and entirely concealable eye twitch to the completely unexplainable full-body muscle spasm.
After recovering from this physiological distress, students have a variety of ways to answer the question.
ONE: You can tell the truth, over and over and over again, but let’s face it, that gets old fast.
Yeah, you know, I really want a job that combines writing with international affairs. Possibly something in journalism – I’m going to move to Washington DC and pursue careers in that field. I’ve always loved DC, but naturally I’m not closed off to other options. I know someone who works at CNN in Atlanta…
TWO: Admit the real truth: I have no plan.
Yeah, ummmmm……..
You will take in the questioner’s understanding gaze, feel the soft and slightly patronizing pat on your shoulder [I have a real job, you ninny] and the inevitable, “That’s ok. You don’t need to know. You’ll figure something out, and it will be something you love.”
You’ll nod gravely, yet wisely. Out loud you’ll say, “I know. God and I have it worked out. I’m not worried.” Mentally, you’ll say (somewhat hysterically), “YES I need to know! Because what if I don’t figure something out, and if I do it definitely won’t be something I love – how can flipping burgers at McDonald’s be something I love? Who loves that?!”
Instead of engaging in this agonizing mental/verbal repartee, you could always resort to the third option:
THREE: Make up a cool story.
Yeah, actually I’ve accepted a position working with homeless cats. We’re going to slowly rehabilitate them to live in homes, through a combination of TLC, R&R, and overpriced vet bills. It’s really rewarding work, I just know I’m making a difference in someone’s life!
Ok, maybe you make up a not-so-cool story.
The potential risk with this method is that your listener will chuckle good-naturedly – “Good one!” – and then ask, “No, really, what are you doing after college?”
And that leaves you right back where you started. Only slightly more frustrated.
In my first year of college all the freshmen engaged in this. We were desperate to make friends. I developed a set of standard answers and grew accustomed to the standard responses: “Wow, you have a really unusual name. No, I mean it’s really pretty!” [Thanks….?] “You’re from Montana? Wow, that is so cool.” [I know.] “How did you end up in Michigan?” “You’re a twin? Wow, that’s awesome…does she go here?”
When I studied abroad it was the same phenomenon. Now, as a senior back at my home institution, once again I cannot escape it. Only this time, the phenomenon limits itself to just one question. Sometimes it comes in sneaky disguises, but it always strips down to the same thing.
What are you doing after college?
This question tends to inspire involuntary physical responses among students, ranging from the subtle and entirely concealable eye twitch to the completely unexplainable full-body muscle spasm.
After recovering from this physiological distress, students have a variety of ways to answer the question.
ONE: You can tell the truth, over and over and over again, but let’s face it, that gets old fast.
Yeah, you know, I really want a job that combines writing with international affairs. Possibly something in journalism – I’m going to move to Washington DC and pursue careers in that field. I’ve always loved DC, but naturally I’m not closed off to other options. I know someone who works at CNN in Atlanta…
TWO: Admit the real truth: I have no plan.
Yeah, ummmmm……..
You will take in the questioner’s understanding gaze, feel the soft and slightly patronizing pat on your shoulder [I have a real job, you ninny] and the inevitable, “That’s ok. You don’t need to know. You’ll figure something out, and it will be something you love.”
You’ll nod gravely, yet wisely. Out loud you’ll say, “I know. God and I have it worked out. I’m not worried.” Mentally, you’ll say (somewhat hysterically), “YES I need to know! Because what if I don’t figure something out, and if I do it definitely won’t be something I love – how can flipping burgers at McDonald’s be something I love? Who loves that?!”
Instead of engaging in this agonizing mental/verbal repartee, you could always resort to the third option:
THREE: Make up a cool story.
Yeah, actually I’ve accepted a position working with homeless cats. We’re going to slowly rehabilitate them to live in homes, through a combination of TLC, R&R, and overpriced vet bills. It’s really rewarding work, I just know I’m making a difference in someone’s life!
Ok, maybe you make up a not-so-cool story.
The potential risk with this method is that your listener will chuckle good-naturedly – “Good one!” – and then ask, “No, really, what are you doing after college?”
And that leaves you right back where you started. Only slightly more frustrated.
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