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now panic and freak out
I AM GOING BACK TO SCHOOL.
Sunday night, when I got back, I asked my dad if I'd gotten any mail—I knew that two of my schools were going to send admissions decisions sometime this week, and I wanted if at ALL possible to get one before we decamped for Bumblefuck, VA, because otherwise I was going to spend the whole week longing for a Michigan mailbox.
"Um, I don't know," my father said. "Ask your brother." Of course by the time W. got off work, I'd forgotten to ask him, so I didn't get to it until later, when I was getting a last glass of water before bed.
"Um," said W. "I don't...think so?"
"Yes, you did!" From the other end of the house, my mom wandered over and shuffled through a pile of mail. "Here, take this."
And that was the first admissions letter.
(Other pieces of mail my family forgot to give me: my paycheck from the ridic part-time job of ridiculousness; an invitation to a wedding. I can't wait to see what they "remember" to tell me about tomorrow.)
And, just—my whole family has been going on and on and on about how I am being ridiculous, how they totally knew all along that I was going to get in, blah blah blahdle.
But the thing is, I didn't know. I couldn't let myself. I thought I had a pretty good chance, yeah, sure—but I thought I had a pretty good chance last year, too. I was sure I'd get in somewhere, and I didn't. Even knowing that the programs (and, for that matter, the schools) are really different, this year—and a much better choice for me, on the whole—I couldn't let myself be sure about anything, because it was going to hurt way too much when I was wrong.
But I got in—I got the second email today—and now I can state with confidence that I am going somewhere. Maybe one of the two I've heard back from, maybe one of the others; I have to wait and see what my options are and what they'll cost.
But I have options. Which is pretty fucking amazing.
And now I have to go watch Southland with my grandmother. Because my family is MADE OF FANGIRLS, when you get right down to it.
Sunday night, when I got back, I asked my dad if I'd gotten any mail—I knew that two of my schools were going to send admissions decisions sometime this week, and I wanted if at ALL possible to get one before we decamped for Bumblefuck, VA, because otherwise I was going to spend the whole week longing for a Michigan mailbox.
"Um, I don't know," my father said. "Ask your brother." Of course by the time W. got off work, I'd forgotten to ask him, so I didn't get to it until later, when I was getting a last glass of water before bed.
"Um," said W. "I don't...think so?"
"Yes, you did!" From the other end of the house, my mom wandered over and shuffled through a pile of mail. "Here, take this."
And that was the first admissions letter.
(Other pieces of mail my family forgot to give me: my paycheck from the ridic part-time job of ridiculousness; an invitation to a wedding. I can't wait to see what they "remember" to tell me about tomorrow.)
And, just—my whole family has been going on and on and on about how I am being ridiculous, how they totally knew all along that I was going to get in, blah blah blahdle.
But the thing is, I didn't know. I couldn't let myself. I thought I had a pretty good chance, yeah, sure—but I thought I had a pretty good chance last year, too. I was sure I'd get in somewhere, and I didn't. Even knowing that the programs (and, for that matter, the schools) are really different, this year—and a much better choice for me, on the whole—I couldn't let myself be sure about anything, because it was going to hurt way too much when I was wrong.
But I got in—I got the second email today—and now I can state with confidence that I am going somewhere. Maybe one of the two I've heard back from, maybe one of the others; I have to wait and see what my options are and what they'll cost.
But I have options. Which is pretty fucking amazing.
And now I have to go watch Southland with my grandmother. Because my family is MADE OF FANGIRLS, when you get right down to it.