Each day that passes marks another day that someone I know has gotten a job. I mark these jobs on my calendar so that when I finally decide to take the plunge, I won’t wimp out because I will, by then, have plenty of reasons to kill myself.

October 17- John (Goldman Sachs)

October 18-Eleanor (Lehman Brothers)

October 19- Sarah (Reubens, Renoir and Balzac)

It’s not like I haven’t tried to get a job. I mean, I’ve tried, but they said I’m not experienced enough to write a spin-off of “Dawson’s Creek” called “Joey.” Well, friends, today is a new day. Literally.

I have finally found my calling. Along the rocky road to my destiny, many mustacheod villains have said, “No, go home, you’ll never get a job.” For instance, last week I visited a number of trusty professionals whose sole job it is to get me one, and I encountered the following horrifying scene:

Trusty Professional: So, what can you do?

Me: Isn’t that up to you?

Trusty Professional: No. You tell us what you do, and we help place you.

Me: I watch “Lost.” So, I wouldn’t want to work on Wednesdays. Oh, and I really like those little chocolates they sell at Gourmet Heaven — the brown ones, I think they’re hazelnut. I’ve never broken a window there. So that must be a plus, right?

Trusty Professional: Do you take classes?

Me: What?

Trusty Professional: Classes.

Me: Oh, yeah, sure. I love school.

Trusty Professional: Have you taken any economics classes? Any computer science? Something that builds practical skill?

Me: No. I’m a huge advocate of the liberal arts education. I’m really fond of classes about “society” and “culture” and “art.”

Trusty Professional: Can you type?

Me: Only when I’m high.

I was forcibly removed from this office. Cast out into the world, I wandered recklessly about the streets of New Haven, but not too quickly for fear of getting some exercise. My mind recycled scenes from the second season of “Lost” and depressing thoughts about my future. I wandered like a saint for one week, missing all of my classes and accumulating a number of angry e-mails from TAs who had seen me wandering but had not seen me in their sections.

Last night, on the seventh night of wandering, feeble from hunger, having survived on a meager diet of buffalo wings and beer for an entire week, I fell to the sidewalk, bumping my head against something very sharp, like a curb, or a metal pole, or one of those spiked boots worn by women who go to heavy metal concerts at Toad’s. When I awoke this morning, I could see my future.

And it was a future of internships.

Internships are a lot of fun. Otherwise, why would people do them? They teach you a lot of fun skills and you get introduced to a lot of fun people who totally think you’re worthwhile and important. While I’m not prepared for a real job, I’m perfect for an internship.

Besides, all my friends will be so jealous, because people at Yale love internships more than any kind of people. I think this is because Yalies have more fun than anyone else. I really like hearing about peoples’ internships because each internship is very different from the next internship. For instance, one intern will be Co-President of Copy-Making while another might be Head Team Leader of Faxing. These are interesting distinctions worth making.

As I sat there on the stoop reveling in my newfound sense of purpose, I used the skills I’d learned in college to break a part the word internship. Intern comes from “internal” as in bleeding. If you break the word a part further, you will notice that the word sounds like “in turn” as in a line. This is because, when you are an intern, you often have to wait in a line for the coffee machine. The word “ship” sounds like “ship” as in a boat.

Once upon a time, there was a thing called slavery. Slavery was pretty cool, because some people were better than other people, and people really like being better than other people. So they had a lot of fun. The slaves were brought on “ships” to America. But there were a few problems with slavery. One was that it was racist. Another was that the slaves could never ass-kiss their way to the top, so it sucked for them. So the slave-owners decided to stop being so racist and start advertising on the Internet! That way, people could decide if they wanted to be slaves. And they did.

Next year, when I am cast out in the world, I will still be a part of something! This is good, because I will no longer get to be in a residential college. I can be part of a team of interns, the people who make the world go ’round. And while my friends are making hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, I will laugh at them, because I will be making millions!

Eli Clark would like you to know that she suffered no permanent damage from her violent brush with enlightenment. She is still in search of that elusive, perfect internship.