Well, it seems like the jig is up. After being a paid student writer for the Chimes Opinions section for the past month, the higher-ups have finally realized that I graduated last winter. Now I have to say goodbye to the only income I have, the ten dollars a week I was so graciously provided with, and say hello to an even deeper level of poverty as I continue writing for free. Someone might say I only have myself to blame, but couldn’t someone also say that everyone else is to blame but me? And would it be so terrible if that person is myself? I think not.

After turning in my badge and standard issued handgun to my editor-in-chief, it was a bit humbling to return to my desk and go about my normal business, which mainly involves me drawing flip books in the corner of old Biola yearbooks. It’s a tough gig being a newly married Biola alumni without what many would consider to be a “real” job. But, if selling oranges on the side of the 5 freeway isn’t a career, then I don’t want to know what is.

Luckily for me, there seems to be a number of jobs on the horizon calling my name. Why, just tonight, my new father-in-law offered me a job to dig a large hole in his backyard. Although this proposed hole has been given no particular purpose and appears to be the same size and height as my entire body, I’m feeling pretty positive about it. After all, I think just about every man in one way or another is welcomed back from their honeymoon with a shovel and a place to start digging.

Having had my own car reclaimed by my parents last week in what I assume to be a confusing un-wedding-gift of sorts, my new wife and I are packing all of our earthly possessions into the back of her Toyota Camry as we begin our trek up to our new apartment in Portland. Such a task is difficult to manage, but as long as my complex string system works, I should be able to free up some space in the drivers seat as I steer the car from the roof. My mother made her opinions of our proposed relocation known by giving us the kind yet unexpectedly inconvenient gift of a grandfather clock. I have high hopes that it will stay on the skateboard I attached to the bumper, as long as I don’t take any turns over five miles per hour.

Of course, once we arrive wherever we’re headed there’s still the whole job ordeal to worry about, and, being one man, I can only sell bone marrow so many times.

Sometimes, in order to appreciate all you have, you have to earn all you have. That might mean taking a job not necessarily of my preference. Although I want to use my brand-spanking new degree right off the bat, I might have to dig a few holes here and there before I can manage to get out of one. In the meantime, I’ll be looking into how I can make a few extra bucks off my cat, Georgie Fruit. That dude needs to start pulling his own weight.