For as long as I can remember, my defense mechanism in the face of widespread disaster has been willful ignorance. I avoid any news that risks bringing me up to speed on the actual situation.

When the 9/11 attacks occurred, I avoided TV until 2002. When I finally forced myself to watch an HBO documentary showing footage of the event, the horror of the attacks devastated me. I had waited so long to expose myself to the tragedy that the media’s initial sensitivity and coddling of the American public had passed, deepening the documentary’s effect on my young psyche.

One would think that this would teach me not to shield myself from reality, but I failed to learn from the harsh lesson of experience. Thus the next time a crisis gripped America, I once again isolated myself from the painful facts of the situation.

The crisis this time is the Financial Crisis—yes, capitalization is necessary—we currently face, which I have attempted to ignore since September of 2008. At first, avoiding news of the crisis was somewhat easier than one might imagine; I was ensconced in the notorious “Yale Bubble,” where the only real signs of economic crisis that I encountered daily were the small increase in coffee prices at The Publick Cup, the new wave of panhandlers that descended upon Broadway, and some witticisms from Jon Stewart that made the issue sound almost funny.

I stopped reading the New York Times Business Section; I avoided Econ majors like the plague; and I ignored parental advice that I not change my course of study from Chemistry (“an economically sound field with a future!”) to Political Science (“the only thing you can do with that degree is go to law school, and no one is hiring lawyers!”).

My sophomore year of college passed smoothly, and when it became apparent that money was tight at home, I was relatively unfazed because I had always been broke.

Enter 2010. Junior year—still a Political Science major, still broke—but the difference now is that I can’t seem to find any way to become not-broke. The newest crisis that I have encountered is the child of the previously mentioned and capitalized Financial Crisis: the “there-are-no-internships-or-jobs-for-junior-Political-Science-majors” crisis.

And this time I am unable to ignore the reality of the situation. It so pervades the campus that it seems every conversation I engage in turns on the fact that practically everyone is unemployed or settling for a low-paying or unpaid position that they don’t particularly want. Even the table tents are rubbing our noses in our collective mass unemployment; one Yale Student for Christ tells the tale of his unsuccessful hunt for internships, although he offers his version of a happy ending in discovering Jesus’s love. Many of us are not quite so lucky, and as we read his story over our tofu apple crisp, we despair that we have neither jobs nor Jesus.

Sure, there are some exceptions; there are a few jobs in consulting and I-banking, but the ratio of people getting those jobs to people seeking those jobs is depressingly low. As it turns out, the job situation is just as miserable for those of us who don’t aren’t looking to enter Goldman or McKinsey. The YCC dating survey phrased it most poignantly: “What will you do after you graduate?” it asked. The answer choices? “a. Teach For America. b. Consulting/Finance. c. Be Homeless.” One would think that maybe graduate school should be a fourth option here, but alas, even grad school funding and admissions rates have dropped through the floor.

So what is a summer job-less Yale student to do? I, for one, have written more bogus cover letters to companies I have never heard of, and applied for more grants—for internships that I don’t even have yet—than I can bear to count.

I suppose I could find comfort in the fact that I am not alone in this futile endeavor, but Schadenfreude was never really my thing. I could admit defeat to the internship gods, dedicate my summer to community service, and live at home. Although that might be the most selfless and the most charitable way to spend the empty months of May, June, July, and August, I’m afraid giving up has also never really been my thing.

The only recourse I can see is to remain (perhaps naively) optimistic about the future, to continue applying for jobs, and cross my fingers for some (good) luck. After all, it’s only March, and I won’t consider myself truly unemployed until at least May. There is still time for something to pull through, and maybe, with a little good fortune, one of those previously unknown companies will offer me my dream job. But for now, when people ask about my plans for the summer, I tell them about the great deal I got on a prime piece of real estate under a bridge and seek their advice on the most pleasing intonation for the question, “Paper or plastic?”

Rachel Fabi is a junior in Ezra Stiles College.