Wednesday, December 15, 2010

I'd rather set myself on fire than sell myself in a letter to an admissions committee.

Well folks, I've finally had it with myself. I've been standing completely inert in the same place for so long, I'm genuinely surprised my wittle feetsies haven't grown roots and settled in for the duration.

You get that I'm being figurative, right? I actually really have a problem with standing still. In fact, my nine year old brother, Charlie, once diagnosed me with adult ADHD because I'm "So fidgity all the time."

Ok, sweet.

We'll say it's been about .....a year and a half, since I was "dismissed" from my post-college cash-cow job with no severance package. Not 'fired,' I was explicitly informed, just not welcome to spend all my waking hours driving around god's country eastern Kentucky and having more meaningful conversations with my gps than actual human beings for days at a time on their dime, anymore.  This was directly after working my ass off for a straight week on a 20 page report, that basically told our "director," and I use that term
very  loosely, everything I'd been doing for the past year... which made it REALLY easy for someone else to just step in and pick up where I left off. Did I mention that I had spent the last year living from hotel to hotel from a suitcase in my car? And that the closest thing I had to a place to lay my head at night was storage unit somewhere in Ohio that was basically just housing all my beer-stained possessions from college until I could find somewhere else to schlep them? Foiled, again.

Maybe if I was actually being a slacker per usual and NOT putting in 70 hours a week towards a cause I actually cared about, I wouldn't have spent the next year or so after my
dismissal walking around with a total chip on my shoulder about it.... but I mean, it's ME, so I probably would have done that no matter what.

So whatever, I ran into a hardcore bitch in a position of undue power that had it out for me no matter what I did (Probably because I was younger and better liked, and I like to think, way more competent), I'm sure it happens to a lot of people- but that kind of shit absolutely doesn't happen to me, so I've been a bit....
lost at sea... ever since.

Basically, I've been waiting for the magical job-fairy to come and offer me everything I've ever wanted in a job (aka getting paid mammoth amounts of cash to read books, kayak, and/or eat bacon, not necessarily at the same time) and know I deserve, for a while.

And..................................... I don't think he's coming.


Sooooooo..... In an effort to get myself rolling again, I've decided to look towards the ever-welcoming doors of academia to get me back in the general direction of the path that may or may not lead to the road that goes though some other moderately shitty places but eventually winds up at my own personal OZ, whatever that may be.

Basically, I'm lost, so instead of cowering in the great forest of unknown or wherever the fuck I am I need to get it together and start moving in one direction or another.

Damn. I feel like Dorothy or Alice. Or something.


That's probably the last thing I need, really.

Anyway, I'm thinking about getting my masters, just like every other motherfucker my age that can't find a job they like, which kind of makes me feel whiney and bratty, but whatever. I've been out for almost three years and guess what, it's only going to get harder to go back from here. Plus, I've got this current joke, I mean, job, where I sit in a cubicle and spend the majority of my time surfing the webz and fielding passive-aggressive emails and basically, as my father so eloquently put it yesterday, it's "killing my spirit."

Plus, I have to stare at this
boner who sits directly across from me for eight hours a day, five days a week. He holds his mouth half open when he types like he's in awe of something. I just want to be like "Dudeeeee, did you find a way around the porn domain blocks over there?! share the wealth!" But, seeing as how he's a pastor for a tiny rural church in the middle of nowhere who depends on his wife to pack him healthy snacks in little baggies in case he gets hungry during the day,  I'm doubting old boy would see the humor. A GROWN ASS MAN. Heard of Hot Pockets, dude? Live it up. Plus, he homeschools his kids. UGH.

I have beef with homeschooling, and although it may have to be a subject for another day, I just want to say this. Most kids are already painfully socially awkward. Actually, for that matter, so are most adults.  Why the
DEUCE would you further risk socially crippling them by completely removing interaction with their peer group? Shit's WHACK.

I NEED graduate school and learned minds and banter that actually contains something resembling wit. On a regular basis. Like, daily. These jokers are simpletons.

So Grad School, I'ma comin' ATCHAAAA. 

And true to Sara-form, I'm doing it all dangerously rushed and last-minute.

I've spent TONZ 'o time on the interwebz researching programs, because obviously, that's the easiest part. And boy, do I love to shop around. I've finally norrowed my search to one program. I'm serious. I'm only applying to one school, but that's just how I am, if I can't have exactly what I want, then you can count on a horrendous attitude and me basically not being willing to try anything else. I only applied to one school when I was looking at colleges and that worked out, soooooo... yeah, this will too.

I've also put in some hours studying for the GRE, even though I detest standardized tests and the idea of being forced to concentrate on a task for five hours with TIMED BATHROOM BREAKS sends me into panic sweats. I can't control my bladder, honestly. One minute I'll be dicking around, completely fine, and the next I'll be overtaken by the urge to urinate so badly that I literally can't concentrate on anything else but holding it. This happens frequently. I'm serious. It's probably an undetected health problem I'm carrying around or something. 

Um, yeahhhhh..... Now you know about my bathroom issues. Cool. Awkward. Cool?

As I was saying before I so rudely interupted myself, I've been 'studying' for the GRE.

Basically, that leads me to the following remaining steps:

1. Requesting my transcipt from Ohio State. And praying there was another person with my name that didn't almost flunk out her freshman year,  and they accidentally send her transcript in the place of mine, and it goes undetected for several years until after I've already got my masters and by that time it will be TOO LATEEEEE. Chances of this are slim so I'm just going to have to be kick-ass on the remaining steps to make up for my pitiful 3.2 GPA.

2. Conning a few suckers from my past into talking real sweet about me on paper for the admissions lackeys. I'm hoping I don't have to bribe people, but I'm not above it.

 ........and 3. My personal statement. (
cringe) ..................(visible shutter).............. complete and utter hope loss.

What I mean to get at here is that I have no idea how to write a personal statement. Most of my writing about myself falls into the category of "self depreciating attempts at humor." I can't brag about how
awesome I am, isn't that for the "professional references" section? How do I go about convincing a panel of people that have never had the pleasure of meeting me in flesh and blood that I care enough about the fact that I'm going to drive myself into upwards of $100,000.00 of debt that I'M NOT GOING TO FUCK THIS UP?

I mean, how do you let people know on paper that despite how much I drink and curse and generally allow myself to act a fool, I'm finally "maturing" and I promise I won't go back to school just so I can use and agree with sayings like "Wednesday is the new Thirsty Thursday, is the new Friday is the weekend?!!!! OMGZZZ." Because, I've grown. I've gotten most of that out of my system and now I think I'd really like to do something with my life that doesn't make me want to sneak back to the office at night and burn the whole dream-drowning building to the ground.

I mean, they want to know why I, of all people, want to choose their hallowed walls as a depository for my blood, sweat, and tears for the next 2+ years?



If I were being honest, I'd say something like this:

Okay here's the deal, guys. I don't really have any heartwarming stories of hardship or overcoming adversity. Actually, I've had a pretty badass life, and I'd like to keep it that way. So I'm asking you to please, pretty please, let me into your program.

I understand that in life you have to work hard and put up with loads and loads of bullshit, sometimes on a daily basis, both of which I do in spades. When I decide I'm doing something I work damn hard and do it damn well. I understand that if you let me in to your program here, there will be expectations of me, I'm willing to be held accountable for all of them. I'm a dependable, semi-responsible adult. I have my shit together. Kind of. I'll do the readings,
I swear!

I want this. I want this possibly more than I have ever wanted anything in my entire life. I'm staking over $100,000 on
myself in your tuiton costs to succeed, and that's a-god-damn-lot for me because not only is that a mountainous amount of money, but also because my parents aren't going to be helping me with all. those. dollars.. It's all on me. Trust me, I'm not going to let myself fuck this up; I've only got one life and I'd like it to remain awesome, or possibly become even more awesome. And with your help, it can!

Choosing your program was a decision I actually spent time and researched. Uhhhh, aka I could have been googling pictures of Robert Downey Jr and instead I pored over hundreds of curiculums to find the right one for me. And this is the right one.  It's the only one I am considering. If I'm not in, I'm going to have to continue working a mindless job with a bunch of losers. I'm in love with this, and I want to do it and do it well, so let me, please.

K, THX!!!!!


(Not actually a mispelling of my name, but a phonetical spelling. "Sar" kind of looks like SARS and I think that would give them the wrong idea, plus when it's read, I think people typically pronounce it as the rhyme of 'car' which is definiitely not what I'm going for here. Anyway, I like to keep it casual, familiar, so I'd like them to think of me as "Sare.")

wish me luck!

XO Sara

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