BAH
The 45 million or so sheep in New Zealand say it, and so did I when I opened the thin letter from the Masters of Library & Information Science program I’d last-minutedly (two weeks before the deadline) applied to. This letter wasn’t even on classy letterhead, like the nice ones I received from Brown & Columbia & Princeton back in spring 2000 when I still hoped to go somewhere full of smart people who weren’t admitted based on some state government deal.
I already knew then that I wasn’t going anywhere but to a UC, and the best I could hope for was Berkeley. Still, getting those three letters on the same day, with their crests embossed on creamy midweight paper stock, I realized that my ivy dreams were ruined, and it was my fault for having smashed them up and pretending I hadn’t cared as soon as I got skinny and made popular friends. Live for the moment, indeed.
Getting this rejection notice isn’t the end of the world; I imagine if I apply as early as possible next year, my chances of acceptance will be much higher; the boldface in this poorly copied letter explained that “the competitive pool of applicants was very large,” and because I only found out about it all three weeks before the deadline, I only managed to submit my application about two weeks early; when it’s a first-come, first-serve school to everyone who meets the (pretty freaking low) standards, then there must have been quite a few people ahead of me.
So, here I am, 116 days out of work, no prospects in sight, and now without the hope of correspondence school in the fall to cling to. Is it any wonder all I really want to do is crawl into an ativan cave and come out when someone ELSE has the answer? I’m not mature enough to manage my own disappointment.