Mile 20
Recently a dear friend of mine ran the Phileadelphia marathon. When I asked her how it was she admitted, "I cried from mile 18 to 20." She asked me how I was doing with grad apps. It was near Thanksgiving then, I said "I'm at mile 18."
I have to physically take my writing sample and resume as well as one recommendation to Columbia. Today one of the other prof's who read my writing sample said "it read likes an undergrad thesis" when I pressed her for why, she couldn't say ( This is the same prof who has been telling me that I am brilliant and an asset to any program from weeks-but then she also suggested I turn in a piece of creative writing with it). I of course burst into tears. Its due today. I've been working on it for six weeks. The paper has been transformed 3 times. (I will most likely go back to my original argument the relationship between the monster and Vistor has the representing the relationship between a chronically ill individual and a physician.) And there was no constructive criticism about what I could do to help, just "well that's the way I feel." Also Columbia, unlike Harvard and Princeton, has no upload for writing samples and resumes on the online application ( why, I ask, bother having one then?) which means I have to run my no make up jeans and sweatshirt wearing ass all the way up to Columbia by today at five. Oh and I also have to finish grading final papers by about 12 or so. Let's not mention my computer loading incredibly slowly, and the 50 high school students who inexplicably showed up in my office this morning for some sort of tour. (Me in no make up with sweatshirt, they assumed a student, meaning they kept asking me about the bathroom etc.) all as I am depserately trying to upload my SOP which is 600 words over their desired length ( my grad advisor says its nec.). Finally I made them open up the computer lab for me.
But now the end is in sight. I have to pay the app. fee, have something to eat, proof read one last time, and then print and dash to columbia. Then I have to go therapy and dance class. Finally I am collapsing in my bath tub with a bottle of cote du rhone, which I bought in Paris.
This is excluding a whole bunch of other things. The anxiety so intense I'm vomiting bile in the mornings. The feeling like my lungs have suddenly become paralyzed. Having to watch happy couples kissing in front of me, friends talking about moving in with girlfriends or having children. Yet another failure of mine. I can't even keep someone interested for more than two weeks. The most consistent male attention I've had this year is from UDR. Think about that for a moment.
I am going to dedicate to getting more of my critical papers published, which if I don't get in, will help my chances for next year. I'm trying to be positive, but you know it was easier when Eric was here to put a peanut sandwich on my pillow when I was tired.
But the end is in sight.

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