Why I'm fairly sure my career will never take off

Now, I know you all believe that I am practically the human embodiment of perfection, but today I found myself wondering if this really is the case. When an uber-hipster with a loud shirt gives a presentation on his experience of the world of work and how he got to where he is (one sexually provocative banned Panasonic advert and, i'm presuming, an entire wardrobe stocked with geometrically colourful clothes), you can't help but question everything about yourself. He kindly informed us all that when employers are looking at you, they don't care for degrees or skillsets, they care about who you are as a person and, wait for it, your hobbies and interests. Ummm.

Hobbies and interests. HOBBIES AND INTERESTS?! I have no hobbies or interests. Actually, that's not true, some 'interests' that come to mind include: tweeting my embarrassing moments, eating my own body weight in Cadbury's Chocolate Fingers, wearing socks with holes in them, playing bejeweled, live-streaming Pretty Little Liars at 1am, being charmingly modest and providing ongoing comic relief for my friends, instagramming every restaurant meal before I consume it, impersonating Taylor Swift, wasting my student loan at Starbucks, getting snapchats labelled 'spawn of satan' from my sister after staying out all night without telling anyone, tripping over things, swearing (I really need to stop that), having nervous breakdowns about my future, getting blisters from new shoes, waking up with yesterdays make-up smeared across my face, avoiding physical exercise, and (perhaps most crucially), procrastinating.

So you see, that's all I have to offer the world! I don't cook, I can't ski, I'm not a photographer (like most people claim to be), I've never attempted to fight a great white shark, and disappointingly, I've never had the opportunity to save someones life. I can't even keep a Sim family alive without using cheats anymore! I'm nineteen, this really is not going well. I mean seriously, there are kids out there infiltrating the FBI website and starring in Hollywood movies, yet my greatest achievement of the last few months is managing not to kill my pet cactus. Instead of being out there saving white tigers or freeing slaves, I am sat here, wearing pajamas with owls printed on them and a hooded Hollister sweatshirt that frankly makes me look like a yob (my sister has pointed this out more than once), having what can only be described as a severe existential crisis.

You see, this is why I'll end up curled up in a hole all alone, with one outfit and three pence to my name. Because I am a truly horrendously pathetically boring excuse for a human being and if we're being honest: peeps do not dig that.

Now pretend you and I are out in a rainstorm, picture it as if we're part of a fantastic Hollywood rom-com starring Julia Roberts, it's dark and cold, there are only streetlights and the faint purr of someones Porsche in the distance, and I look up at the sky and begin to yell "tell me, advertising industry people, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, WHO AM I SUPPOSED TO BE?!"

What's the answer? What do you think I am? (besides totally crazy for yelling at the sky, obviously)

~ Eleanor xo