The past week has been filled with ups. So much so that in the back of my mind I was afraid that any semblance of bad energy would make me crash.
Apparently not! Thursday morning, I found out I got into Emerson College – making it 2/9! – and this morning I found out I got rejected from Brandeis University! …again!
Which, you know, kind of really sucks. No one likes rejection. I certainly don’t. But in a way it’s a testament to how much I’ve grown as a person that I was able to collect myself with a few deep breaths, a shower and some good breakfast.
Now, apart from the obvious question which is what in the ever-loving cosmos does Brandeis want from me I don’t really mind. I feel grounded. I feel more human and more…concerned with myself and my sole existence right now than I have in the past week which is a really good feeling. And as I sip tea – Peppermint and Eucalyptus, amazing combination – I think about the fact that, well, at least it’s not like last year. It’s not like “Oh, hey, how about we start you off with a nice, resounding rejection?” so kudos for that, o powers-that-be.
I think more than anything else, I’m just so relieved that my self-esteem doesn’t rely on rejections from schools I don’t even want to particularly attend. Granted, it does freak me out a little bit – what about Boston University? Literally you could reject me from any university except that one and I’d be okay. The Ivy Leagues were always a long shot, there were solid safeties, a couple of other schools here and there, but BU was always top priority. The past few sentences, by the way, are an example of digression.
I know this blog post is all over the place but it’s just something I need to get out. More than anything else it’s a reminder to myself that, hey, it’s all good. You’re all good. Everything’s fine. The world most certainly hasn’t ended.
And there’s five other universities to hear back from.
So as it stands, yeah, 2/3 isn’t so bad. Not bad at all. So the waiting game continues and the nail-biting goes on.
Next word: 20th March. Come at me, Suffolk.