I've been avoiding talking to my parents for the past, let's see, ten days or so, give or take a week. I've been doing this because, technically speaking, I haven't gotten out my grad school applications, because, technically speaking, I haven't written the essays I need to send them off. I have a very good reason for not doing this, and that reason is that I suck. I will sit at my computer to write my Statement of Purpose and will my fingers to write something witty, yet respectful, that conveys my dazzeling intellect with humility, elloquence, and proper grammar. What happens instead is that I wind up reading online newspapers for a few hours. I'm no closer to getting into grad school, but I feel
very informed.
When I do get anything done, it's done to the background of a very annoying voice in my head: "Statement of Purpose? What's that supposed to mean? My purpose is to get into your god forsaken program. Why else would I be applying? Ok, ok, can't say that. What can I say? I can't tell them I'm smart, because that's arrogant, but I can't not tell them or I'll sound stupid. Maybe I could tell them about the Marti Saga. Wait, they're reading a segment. Maybe I could talk about my screenplays, but that might hurt me because they don't offer a screenwriting program. Shit shit shit. Do they even read this thing? Three hundred Statements of Purpose all from people with proto-novels about plucky, likable characters that want stuff and do stuff to get it. Fuck it, I should have become a doctor or lawyer." And so on, a never-ending internal monologue that never pauses for breath because inner voices, much like vampires and zombies, don't need to breathe.
I think my problem stems from the fact that I'm a much better writer when there's nothing at stake. I have no problem pounding out something for this blog, because ultimately I'm only risking boring the half a dozen people who might read this post on their lunch break. School paper's aren't a big deal either. Worst case scenario, I don't properly tie a few of my points back to the central thesis, and I get a B and then the Earth spins off its axis. For the first time, I actually have something to lose if I suck. Or, put more accurately, I have a lot to lose by not absolutely fucking brilliant. I don't have to look good compared to perhaps thirty undergrads, most of which wrote their papers while hungover. No, I have to look better than the 300+ applicants applying for seven slots in the program, many of which have been writing for much longer than I have. Doing a bit of sloppy math in my head, I figure I've got perhaps a two percent shot of getting into any particular program I apply to. I'm applying to eleven programs.
Even taking into account the law of averages, I might as well get a head start applying for a job a McDonalds. I have not mentioned a lot of this to my parents, who are paying for the application fees. I know better. So I've been selectively "losing" my cellphone for the past week, so tragically I've been missing their calls. Until today, when I made the mistake of picking up the phone, three times in a row.
First Phone Call: My mother is screaming in the background. My father is on the phone, acting as translator. If I don't get into a program soon, I might as well forget the minors and leave undergrad now, get a job, and stop wasting their money. Valid points, all.
I am worthless. Less than worthless. Narrowly avoid crying. Fuck the diet, I'm eating chocolate.
Second Phone Call: Thirty minutes later. Mom must be in the other room, but Dad's obviously speaking from a well-rehearsed script she's prepared for him. Basically, a Cliff's Notes version of the last conversation, sans screaming.
Cry for ten minutes. Contemplate future as soulless cublicle dweller after I fail to get into writing progam and lose my parent's love.
Third Phone Call: This time it's Mom, chipper. She forgot to tell me, the Fredricksburg candlelight tour is December 9th this year, can I make it? Let me check. Yep, classes end December 8th. I can come.
Wonderful! I'll get tickets. Bye bye. Click.
Bewilderment. Dismay. Time for a blog update.
Hey guys. I need one, some, or perferably all of you to provide me with an alibi for, let's say, this Saturday. I'm in a group project, again. And, as per usual, it was assigned the first week of class, which was about the same time I got my portion of the project worked out and ready to go. Now, I'm getting e-mails that my other three group members don't "get" what the assignment is about, even though we've had around fifteen meetings were we discussed this very thing. I'm afraid that for the good of the gene pool, these people must be dispatched with all due haste before they marry and interbreed with more idiots to produce the next generation of Republicans.
