My Early Twenties Life Crisis: I am officially unemployed.

Words by Michelle Andrews.

Four weeks ago I had what I am now referring to as my Early Twenties Life Crisis (or ETLC… which is alternatively known as my STWIADWLME: Screw-The-World-I-Am-Done-With-Life Mental Episode).

I calmly drove home from what was a typical day at work (typical meaning that multiple customers replied to my friendly “Hello how are you today?” with a curt “Just looking, thanks”), I hopped into bed, opened my laptop, downloaded a generic resignation-letter template and emailed it straight to my bosses.

Just like that.

And holy Gok’s Fashion Fix it felt good. Kind of like the feeling you get when your card is accepted even though you’ve been avoiding looking at your bank balance for two weeks. Or the feeling of flinging your bra across the room the moment you open your front door. Or when you absolutely smash your fake-eyelashes application out of the park on the left AND the right eye and walk out the house feeling like Kendall freaking Jenner.

You get the gist… it felt good.


This is a completely accurate (and not at all optimistic) depiction of how I looked once I pressed the ‘Send’ button. It is what I call my ‘I am prepared for total World domination’ pose.

Plus, considering the fact that I am a complete and utter stress-head who finds difficulty in changing her toe nail-polish colour (it’s currently ‘Cherries in the Snow’ by Revlon, and has been for about 14 months now) let alone changing my job, it was probably as bad-ass as I’m ever going to get. The day I had my ETLC was the day something just clicked within my muddled little mess of a mind – I am so ready for change, and I am so ready to leave the job that I have been comfortable in for years.

What’s funny is how my blasé attitude towards finding another job has carried on these past few weeks. Everyone around me clenches their teeth with worry when they learn that I am yet to hand out a resume. They get all wide-eyed and panicky, like I am going to shrivel up and start violently convulsing within minutes of unemployment. My friends are treating my current status with an alarmingly high amount of concern – probably the amount I’d expect if I told them I am joining a cult. But I am in a blissful state of extended ETLC, too in-lust with the prospect of unlimited day-time television and sleep-ins. I am unable to consider the inevitability of bankruptcy if I continue to stay at home all day watching Mary Berry talk about pastry.


Tell me more, Mary Berry. I want you to whisper sweet sweet nothings about brioche and pie into my undeserving ears.

Also, the prospect of not having to wear pants or foundation for a substantial period is just too God Damn enticing to pass up. I may just walk around the house in bathers for this entire week. Hygiene standards may drop slightly. I mean, why bother washing my hair when dry-shampoo practically does the same thing in one-fiftieth of the time? I can allocate so much more of my day towards what’s really important… like following the Kardashian/Amber Rose Twitter feud.

You guys, I’ve basically given myself the gift of time.

My friends have a theory that I was shot with a horse tranquiliser gun. That, or the ridiculous level of Pepsi-Max in my system has actually seeped into and subsequently melted my brain.

The reality is that these past few months have shown me exactly where I want to be and what I want my life to be like. I am finally starting to feel that taking last year as a break from University and experiencing all that I did (the traveling, the full-time work, running this blog, fostering my Pepsi-Max addiction) have cemented in my mind what direction I want to head in.

And so I guess I just naturally arrived to the state where I am now. A state where I feel ready to start fresh, ready to begin new things, ready to commit myself to the stuff that I am passionate about.

In the meantime I have a few exciting writing projects to keep myself occupied.

Whatever comes my way, I am so effing excited.