A chronicle of death foretold:
WEDNESDAY
Having gotten tired of sitting passive waiting for the phone to ring, I called the school. An automated message reported that it was very sorry, but the admissions staff hadn’t shown up for work.
THURSDAY
The admissions staff showed up! But they could tell me nothing. Could they transfer me to the English department? Certainly. But the English department knew nothing. Who would know something? The MFA people — and they don’t come in Thursdays and Fridays.
MONDAY 9:00
The MFA people don’t get in til 12:30. (Wow, it must be nice to be an MFA person.)
MONDAY 12:30
Yes, we can tell you over the phone if you like. We’re going to stutter and sound apologetic. No, you have not been accepted.
Now I am sad and would like to curl up in a corner. Unfortunately I am at work where corners are wanting and anyway are in full view of everyone; everyone would be rather curious. Being as it is St. Patrick’s day, I should go off to a corner in a bar and get drunk. I will not, though. I will go home and, as I promised myself I would a few weeks ago, when I realized I wasn’t going to get to rub shoulders with Michael Cunningham and Myla Goldberg after all, I will do some writing.
oh, baby. 🙁
well, they missed their chance to have an awesome and successful future graduate!
maybe you don’t get to rub mc and mg, but you could pay someone to rub you? sounds like time for a massage.
but yeah, that sucks. i’m sorry.
Hang out with me instead.
bah! this is like when decca records rejected the beatles. you will be a great writer no matter what!
thanks for being so sweet, guys. and you’ve totally given me an idea: perhaps i will take some of the money i would otherwise have delivered to Brooklyn in a wheelbarrow and use it for good!
I’m shocked that you didn’t get in. There must have been people who knew people who knew…well you know how it goes.
But nevermind them, your work is fabulous and you will make a career as a writer.
aw, thanks, kim!