(Hey! Remember when I said I wasn’t going to blog about school anymore? Yeah. I lied.)
I mailed off the final portion of my application today- the fellowship application. Otherwise known as, the Part That Allows Me To Afford All the Other Parts.
Because, well, I’m not sure Borders will still be in business in September, and I’m even less certain that they will have, for some reason, increased my wages to $400 an hour. Although that would be lovely.
SOOOO. The full tuition and living stipend that’s more money than I’ve ever seen before? Would be pretty awesome.
Of course, the director of graduate studies then had to send me an e-mail and screw with my head. He’s an old professor of mine, and even wrote me a lovely letter of recommendation.*
He finished the letter with the sentence, “Looking forward to (possibly) having you in some of my grad classes!”
Wait. What? Possibly? What does that mean? Oh, this required some thinking. I took it to mean that they’re totally never going to accept me and I’m going to die alone and barren** and working at Barnes and Noble.***
My mom took it to mean he thinks they’re going to let me in, but it’s not official yet, and he can’t say that without qualifying it.
The guy passing my house whom I flagged down and dragged into my kitchen to read my e-mail? He wasn’t totally sure.
So. That’s a whole different layer of crazy that you uncovered, Dr. *I Really Want To Go To Your University So I’m Going To Not Write Your Name All Over The Internets*.
*That I printed. And hung on my bulletin board. And read sometimes when I’m feeling like no one will ever accept me. Or when I’m feeling like no one will ever marry me. Or when I’m feeling like even if I do get accepted I’m never going to pass the doctoral exams and I don’t even speak French, what the hell. Or when I’m feeling bloated. Or when I’m feeling like eating cookies. Or when it’s, like, Tuesday. I read that sucker a lot.
**Please don’t ask me why I assume that as soon as I get into a master’s program I’ll get married and pregnant. I’m pretty sure that’s not on the curriculum.
***What? I’m disloyal.