I just want it to come and so I can cry and get this over with.
There wasn't any mail today, at all.
DAh!
This process would be exciting if I thought I had a chance, yet I don't (I calculated my chances to be about 3.83%), so it's not.
DAh! Oh, higher education.
fEck.

I had a dream about getting my rejection letter, I could feel the small corner of my soul screaming, "I am intellegent and creative and driven and cosmopolitan! I deserve this! I work Hard! I..." yet the finality of "We're sorry to inform you..." silenced my hopes and self-esteem, I don't know if it was a dream or my ultimate melancholy fanatasy, which really isn't a fantasy, rather a hell, perhaps I was awake, perhaps it was a predictor of the future, perhaps I really am no one at all, which is true, perhaps I am just a little crazy because I just want to cry and wallow for about thirty seconds then finish my school work and read Tennesee Williams and remind myself that I am not familiar and stop clinging to the part of my soul that still has hope, I need to stop because it's only going to hurt more when I see the actual letter. That was a giant run-on paragraph which is how I feel right now.

Ihaveasmuchpatienceasthisphrasehasspaces.

Waiting for the tears, the headache and the failure.



IT DOESN'T MATTTER! no, none of this does. In twenty four hours this will all be over and I just have to deal with this and move on and look to other things and forget and forgive myself and forgive others and then I shall be okay. Because this really doesn't matter. At all.
Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself. Forgive yourself. This is all you have. Forget. This is just page 36. For what happened before, forgive yourself, you cannot do anything now about this. You cannot change your DNA. Nor your composition, intellectually. Move one. Skip away. Climb over the pickett fence for another community. Stop thinking about last March and the summer and november and everything inbetween. None of this matters. The world is not going to burst into flames and melt everyone and love the wax people. Love. Forgive yourself. Try not to wallow in self-pity. It is a drug. A melancholy drug that turns your soul into a raisin. Wow. I am a dork. Wow. No one ever reads this so it doesn't matter. IT DOESN'T MATTER. Yes, none of this does. Forgive yourself. "At the bottom of everything" or some lyric like that. The last line. YES! no one cares and that's okay. That's how it should be. Sha Sha. Forgive! You are going to crawl in a hole somewhere and die if you don't. Live right now. Drink tea with honey and do my physics homework and listen to NPR and forgive. I am human. Therefore, IT DOESN'T MATTER. Bitterness kills. Live in love. The invisible hand smothers you. Ha. Adam Smith, you economics figure. This competition does smother, Keynes. And because of this I cannot forgive myself for these mistakes and misfotunes. It is life. I cannot wallow in "sorrow" people died today, people are starving, there are people not living in conservative, safe, E.C. with a car able to attend a high schol or have the ability to read. I shouldn't complain. My ACT scores suck but it's my fault so IT DOESN'T MATTER. It's done. I sent them. I worked on my applications through August and September and sent them in October and two at the end of September. I can't do anything now. I can't do anything about March. I can't do anything about June or my skills or my thoughts or words, well I can stop speaking but that has only distanced me more so far. so ahh. feck. not that f-word the autre one. I can't speak French either but I am FORGIVING MYSELF. because this really doesn't matter. Dah! When my response comes tomorrow I am going to melt snow with my tears but look forward and forgive myself. I have to. You are going to. Kill bitterness wiht optimism. Kill bitterness with optimism. No one reads this so...lovely. Dah! here is my soul! My soul that resembles the hard liver of an alcoholic at the age of 93. But life is really not that bad. Because I have a bottle of water, a blue toothbrush and a play to read and eyes to see and hears to love and things will be okay. Things will be okay. Because I am going to forgive myself. I am going to forgive myself. I don't need a theapist, I need salvation in the form of slacking off. My thumb is telling me to stop so I am.



DAH!

Find brilliance in the sadness

and the christmas tree lights downtown.

Discover the beauty in the struggle. Search.

Bohemian soul.

Breathe. It will be okay. It will.

Wrapped in your cashemere soul.

Plaid turns to brown and brown then dances to red and I realize that this isn't possible and I look at the light. I do not sneeze. I think of green grass in Colfax and geese and losing a ring in a leaf pile when I was eight and my father and white shoes and tears and coloring books and revolution and artistic integrity and doubt and hoplessness and emotion and you.