I got my first grad school rejection letter from university yesterday, and in the ultimate my-life-is-a-series-of-metaphors move, the first thing I did after reading the email was clean out the litter box, because nothing else could so perfectly encapsulate that particular shit happens kind of moment. The second thing I did was post a tragically emotional, sympathy seeking Facebook status abut it, because at heart I’m still a 15 year old girl who just got dumped on Valentine’s day. Then I told my mum, who was in her room dancing to Grease music, went and made a cup of tea, had a mini temper tantrum in my room, played the ukulele sobbing, dried my face off, and got on my computer to write this blog post, because hot damn, I got things to do.
I think the worst part is that I work for a catering company, and I have to cater an event for the program I just got rejected from tomorrow by myself. It’s a ritzy wine reception. So I get to stand there serving wine to the people in the program I really wanted to be in while they gripe about literature and exams and Randian philosophy or whatever. Which, you have to admit, is pretty high up on the unfortunate coincidences list.
I double checked my four other schools because I’d so rather just get rejected all at once, but of course they haven’t made decisions yet. So I probably get to do the whole drawn out temper tantrum situation four more times. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
I don’t know. I got rejected last year from three different schools for graphic design, and I was upset, but not upset about it. I had already rationalized not getting in. I knew my portfolio wasn’t very good. I had thought it through.
This time though, in my heart-of-hearts, I was positive I was going to get into this university. So I kind feel like I just got hit in the face with a porcelain mug. It hurts pretty badly with the initial impact, and then you have to find all the sharp little pieces that got down your clothes and into your shoes, and every time you find one, you think, oh yeah, I got hit in the face with a mug. Man, I DID NOT see that one coming.
Boo, internet. Booooooo.
Ugh, internet. I feel like death today. I feel like sick on a stick. I feel like someone replaced my innards with a small, moving replica of the Macy’s day parade. There is a tiny mosh pit happening in my head. I have opened and closed my refrigerator at least ten times today without eating anything.
It’s one of those days where the mere thought of being productive in any capacity is making me want to do a literal full blown temper tantrum, complete with screaming and stomping and throwing things, but I am above such things (also that much movement right now might actually kill me). As such, I so did not want to write this blog today, internet. I’m legitimately sitting here writing this and pouting like a petulant child because my life is so hard. However, I shall persevere, because there is a tiny little voice in my head among the angry white noise screaming SUCK IT UP LOSER.
It’s so funny how sometimes I rebel against myself being productive like that, even though I know the pay off will be worth it. Even though I know that whatever I have to do will take less than half an hour and I’m not really doing anything anyways and I’ll feel so much better just getting it over with. I think a lot of people can sympathize with that feeling. That’s why Netflix is still a thing, right? So college kids can watch just one more episode of 30 Rock before they start that paper?
I can absolutely feel the pull of Pinterest at the corner of my mind right now, but dammit, I’m not giving in.
The thing is, I started this blog thinking I would fail. I actually assumed that I wouldn’t make it a full week and I decided not to tell any of my friends and family for a few days in case I didn’t pull through, but here I am, two weeks in, still going strong with a full cache of drafts and scheduled posts. And I feel so much better about myself then when I started this craziness. I feel so much less like a lazy schmuck, living in my parent’s house, working part time jobs, and whats changed? Nothing, apart from the fact that I’m writing everyday and keeping a promise I made to myself two weeks ago.
I guess the moral of the story here is that I knew this day would come – the I-would-rather-gouge-my-eyes-out-then-write-a-post day and I’ve survived it. I wrote despite having a backup post prepared in case of emergency. I wrote despite the fact that I am in bed possibly dying (WebMD says it’s probably brain cancer), and I’ve only checked Facebook once (okay, three times, but I had a notification). And now that I’m nearing the end of this post, I feel pretty damn good, because for the first time in a long time, I’m sticking to a routine, even though I wasn’t feeling it today.
Moral of the story? SUCK IT UP AND GET MOVING, INTERNET.