is not.

After five months of stress, of writing essays and rewriting essays, of horrible advisers and hours spent crying, of mania, of snapping at friends, of nail-biting and bad night's sleep, of  "no, I can't, I have to work on my scholarship application," it has all come down to this day.

Twenty one days ago, I sent my work off into a sea of uncertainty and doubt, hoping it would wash ashore and get picked up as someone shouted "EUREKA! This is it!" But it came floating back to me. Back from whence it came.

Who has two thumbs and no longer has a chance at $30,000?
THIS GIRL.


Claire is no longer in the running towards becoming America's Next Truman Scholar.

notes on professors

I spend hours everyday taking notes from them. Lectures, power-points, the dreaded group activities. Now here are some notes on my professors:

Dear sir  Dear Dr. Sir,
your hair is ridiculous. I wonder how you wash it. Or rather, if you wash it.
Long, crumpled, and dark, it hangs in a ponytail almost to your waist. The size and shape of this "do" forces me to recall an unsightly clog pulled from a shower drain.
And your sweatshirt. Forest green, navy, or grey. The same shape and sad feel about it that suggests it has been worn hundreds if not thousands of times and never given the proper respect it deserves.

These things are excusable given your work as a researcher and your passion for the disgusting animals you work with: pigeons.  What gets my attention everyday is your interesting "air quotes." A typical human would use two fingers to gesticulate, either apart like peace signs or together like a Boy Scout's promise. But you, Dr. Sir elect for mitten hands, making a motion like you are waving to two small children standing next to each other. This intrigues me and disturbs me. Did you choose to do this sometime during your young experimental phase? Is it an attempt at non-conformity and rebellion? Or do you have some mildly disfiguring hand problem that restricts individual finger movement?

Carry on, Dr. Sir. Because your class is pretty boring and at least I have the quotes to look forward to.

Love, Student.

Dr. Lady, it is hard to take you seriously today.

Every other meeting with you leaves me unsettled and fearful. You always look so put-together and scornful. Your outfit makes me imagine a closet full of turtlenecks and earth tone jackets. A vanity with the perfect make up and polished-rock earrings. An alarm clock set to 5:30 to ensure enough time to wash and shape the perfect helmet of hair placed atop your glaringly critical head.

Today, I see a new side of you. And that side is knee-high black patent leather dominatrix boots. 

The dominatrix bit is only assumed.

As I try to concentrate on whatever it is you are saying, I am paralyzed by the squeaking sound of your boots rubbing together as you attempt to daintily cross your ankles. It's the sound of balloons rubbing together or that squelch from the jerk who squeaks his shoes on the linoleum when he comes in from the rain. The sound that hits me somewhere in the middle of my head by the back of my throat.

I will not be concentrating today.  Excuse me while I attempt to shove notebook paper in my ears and scrub the image of whips from my brain.

Love, Student.

OK, I haven't written anything in a while, so here goes.

I am done applying to the scholarship! Which means two things:

1. I don't feel as guilty when I am doing nothing at all.
2. My to-do lists are shorter and/or non-existent!

That's about it. Still school to be dealt with, work to be done, and events to attend. Now I have to apply for housing next year, and soon sign up for senior classes. Weird.


 also,

my grandmother is recovering from heart surgery, so if you pray please pray for her.

shark farts!

I am about to blerg all over this blog.

But first I need a Coke because I am getting a caffeine-withdrawal headache.

So I am finally in the final stages of finally being final with my final draft of the scholarship application. Finally.

I have the body filled out (ex:  list your awards and scholarships in order of significance. answer: voted Cougar Call Center Puzzle Master 2010) and I have all my essays finished. They just need...lots of touch ups. And a new paint job. Maybe some body work. It'll get there.
It is all officially due on February 1, only 12 days away. And then I promise I will stop talking about it.

During this whole process I have had so many weeks where I've said "as long as I can get through _____ I'll be OK" like "I just need to get through Wednesday and I'm scott free." Sometimes I don't even make plans for the day after that because I can not see that far into the future. Seriously. Well, I am saying it again. As long as I can get through Tuesday, I'll be fine.
Lemme splain.

This weekend will be fine, but Monday and Tuesday bear the mark of the beast.
Monday: first Conditioning and Learning quiz- a class I still haven't received my book for.
Then, immediately after my Happiness class (ironically [well, Alanis Morissette ironic]) I get to make up the Spanish final that I missed for the funeral. Three hours. of Spanish. that I haven't seen in two months.

Tuesday: First Spanish quiz. With maps.
Two papers due for Learning Disabilities.

and oh yeahs this other little thing I might get around to called my TRUMAN SCHOLARSHIP INTERVIEW. Gonna be grilled on NCLB and ESEA and what was in the NYT this morning and how many pages were in Psychology Today three months ago and would I die for my country and if I had to pick which Supreme Court justice would I invite to my birthday and what's a henweigh and how many licks does it really take to get to the center of a tootsie pop and what is the exact national debt at this moment... and anything else I might be expected to know as a person of the world that I defintiely don't know.

I thought it would be easy. Interviewers ask questions about you, and I like to talk about myself. A match made by Patti herself.  But alas, it is a bit more complicated and I may need a pint or two of ice cream afterward. But all I have to do is get through the interview and then I am scott free. Right?

squeeeek

It is 47 degrees outside.

OK, so this week is hell week.I can;t wait for it to be over so that I can start taking finals! Never thought I would say that. I have spent the past several nights in the library until late o'clock (I finally took advantage of the library being open 24/7- which means after 2- last night. I am both very proud and very tired.) and I have learned a few things:

when it is the same level of pitch darkness outside from 5PM to 5AM, it is difficult to fully comprehend how late it is, but there are a few ways to tell it is way too late to be up studying (if I were up late doing fun things, it would never be "too late." puh. I'm a disco night owl.):

• no one is out on the street when I come back from the library. It kinda feels like a zombie movie: nearly everyone is gone, hidden away somewhere, and the people on the streets are dangerous and have a glazed look in their eyes (these are just the student smokers sitting outside the library). 
• the night watchman is at the desk instead of a student. They are nice guys, usually. But come on, there is a reason they work at night.
• I am ravenously hungry but too lazy to do anything about it. I need more snacks.
• I might microwave an empty cup. Or forget my keys again. These are both signs that tell me it's finals week. 

On the bright side, I feel much more capable as a writer! After finishing a 7 page paper for Spanish IN SPANISH, everything I write in English comes much easier. It's like a faucet has been opened and all my words just come flowing out. Yesterday it was more like trying to get that last bit off shampoo to come out of the bottle. It feels wasteful to throw the bottle away with that last half inch in there but it just will NOT come out without serious acrobatics that should not be done on a wet slippery surface or some seriously funny noises echoing around the bathroom.

Anyway. Finals next week. Looking like a cake walk compared to this.
Cue lightening bolt.

the NESP wasp

I am freaking out. Just a bit.

Tomorrow is D-Day. It should be happy and exciting, because I really only have two classes standing between me and Thanksgiving, but actually- OH WAIT there is another HUGE thing standing in the way, and that is this damned scholarship.

I have a meeting with my adviser for the NESP (Nastily Exhausting Scholarship Process) tomorrow at 12:30, right before I am allowed to leave for break. It's like seeing a lovely cake on the kitchen table and running toward it in excitement only to find a gigantic deadly wasp sitting in front of it, so that you are so freaked out about the wasp and how to maneuver yourself around it that you forget the cake is even there until the wasp decides to fly away by itself. Tomorrow is kinda like that.

I have a few more essays to write and I have convinced myself that everything I can get on paper (or a word document) is progress. Except it's NOT. Everything I have written is bullshit and that wasp is going to tear me down until all I am is a small weeping child.

Maybe I should have used pie as an example. It's more appropriate for the season.