I mean, I haven’t really felt like doing much today. Much in the way of constructive, adult stuff, anyway. Like, I totally want to go meet John at Sierra and talk about all the wonderfully useless shit in each other’s lives that we’ve missed, for some reason, because, life, or whatever. And at Sierra we’ll see the Queen, who’s meeting up with Inferno (who I only recognize at the very end, who doesn’t recognize me either because it’s been years and he hadn’t seen the dreads). And I’ll remember that years ago, when Twitter was Twitter, I was SUPER crushing on her (skinny) (ex?) boyfriend, and the steamy DMs gave me life for a quick minute, that ended rapidly when I met the Queen. Fortunately she seems to be a benevolent ruler.
I didn’t feel like working either. I mean, not that I am ever ati suuuuper enthusiastic about it, but, today was a big day for us at jobo, and the episode was coming out, so that was exciting…but something was just like…meh. I ignored it…it’s been like that for a while…so I didn’t pay it much attention. As usual. And as usual, I had to give myself a pep talk to even get out of bed to do said work.
It isn’t that I’ve been fighting with Slevin either. I mean, people fight, right? It happens. It’s bloody fucking awful, but…it happens. And the point of two people being together is that they try…right? I mean, in spite of the ugliness. You push past it. That’s what you’re supposed to do. Regardless of the fact that you want to murder someone. And not the nice Seyi Shay ‘Murda’. The one for weaponry and praying to Jesus for your soul and the strength in your hands.
So I got home and called SecondPresident – I was supposed to go over to his and watch the episode – but he isn’t home, which fucks up my dinner plans. I open up my email –
And there it is.
The one I’ve been waiting for from December.
Planning my entire life around it, too. Like if I go, what happens to me? And SB? And Slevin? My apartment? My racism, you know? What happens to my large amount of debt?
The email said:
This email is to inform you that a decision has been made regarding your application to ***, which is now available to you on your activity page. Please log in using your account credentials. Please note that *** will never email you your decision directly.
My heart started beating faster than Jason Statham when he knows he has to act next to James Franco in Homefront, because, oh shit, he actually has to act.
Like oh shit, the letter is here (at least I’ve paid my rent…)
I go to the portal.
(so many dears. Are they setting me up for something?)
I regret to inform you that *** program did not approve your application for admission to *** for Fall 2015.
I guess they were.)
Admission decisions are made on a comparative basis and are the result of a careful evaluation of each candidate’s application, taking into account academic achievement (Oh Lord. Guys. KCSE DOESN’T COUNT FOR SHIT! CAMAAAAAAAAAAANNNN!!!), preparation for advanced study (oh God. I’ve never been prepared a day in my life. They knew. They could see it in my personal statement.), and other supporting materials. (like what? Nudes?)
The majority of those who apply to the Graduate School have strong qualifications and demonstrate an ability to do advanced academic work (ayayayayayayayayayayaya. WHO HAVE THEY BEEN TALKING TO? *sigh). We regret that we have to disappoint many bright and talented students. (YOU regret it? wails Am I bright and talented, mommy?)
Thank you for your interest in ***. I wish you the best in your academic endeavors.
I got to the end of the letter and then had to immediately go back to work and kind of try to ignore the adrenalin that was coursing through my fingers and making them shake. Then I read the letter about 14 more times. Then I started thinking about this blog post. Then I started thinking about who I should tell first. Fuck, I shouldn’t have told people I’m applying. I should have just not. And said ‘I have no future plans whatsoever’ anytime anyone asked me. Now I have to tak about it. Because I dreamed about it. Now my dad will be like…get a real job…and Drumsticks will be like…well there goes 75 dollars…ok she won’t…but…as in.
So now I have to act like the email never happened and go back to the life I had plan for if the answer was no (because you always plan for both answers, right?)…
Or something like that.
Or just sleep.
Meh. I feel so meh. I suck at rejection drafted on fancy letterheads.