A Dark Age
Where have you gone, blossoming muses? I hear no answer. Two years have blinked since the Great Voyage of 2022 erupted into its final month. Two years to build a life. I have nothing to show for it. I suppose it’s a byproduct of society’s over credentialization, my own madness, and remaining couped up on Chicago’s outskirts. For the first time in my life, the existential dread of stagnation and failed dreams circles overhead. Earning a living doing what I love has proven to be a Sisyphean task. Finding a basic 9–5 that will at least allow true financial independence has been a disaster.
Since May, earning a Master’s degree was a lifeline. A glimmer of light beyond the cave’s impotent and enduring darkness. I decided to apply to Northeastern Illinois’ Secondary Education Program. Emphasis on History and Social Sciences, because I know I’d love being an educator. I’d shape lives. I’d instill in others, the same passion for knowledge that has carried me for so many years. On breaks I’d harness my craft. Alas, things crumble. A week later, the application was denied because my cumulative GPA as an undergrad was 2.6. I’ve grown weary of these mounting denials from employers, and now, universities. The Dark Age has been here ever since the winter of 2023’s harsh frost. I’m not alone. These are the blues of millions, especially among younger generations. As children we were inundated with fantastic promises of our civilization’s…
