Corruption Craves Company

'And where does College of the Ozarks rank in priority out of the schools you wish to attend?'

Well, let's see. There *was* that one on Mars I had my heart set on, but it doesn't look like they're accepting applications for this year. Oh well. I guess I'll just have to settle for CofO.

It's interesting, when you look back on something that's been looming ahead of you for so long. You see it in a different light and find so many reasons for why you should have done such and such another way. But looking back on it isn't nearly as hard as looking at it when it's standing right in front of you. And, sometimes, it's necessary to dread something so you find out what it's like to conquer.

The disappointing part is when you find out it wasn't really any big deal, and anyone could have done it. Probably without stressing out about it so much, too. There's no satisfaction in a job well done when you had your heart set on utter failure (or success, for that matter). When you psych yourself up for something and it turns out to be no more than a casual event, you can't help but feel slightly cheated.

I spent weeks in denial about my college interview, set for December 15th. Three or four days before the actual event, it hit me that I'd actually be *talking* to someone, and I freaked out. I'm pretty sure anyone who talked to me between the 10th and the 15th spent the entire time wishing they were doing *anything* else but that. The more I let myself think about it, the more of an issue it became. Every thing I said, everything I did, and mostly, everything I wrote sounded like ETS, which is pretty bad, coming from me. Right before I completely flew off the handle, I got a talking-to that seemed to help quite a bit. When the morning of the 15th came, I was cool, calm and collected. And only shaking the tiniest bit.

The interview was a complete failure. Not because I didn't answer the questions in a satisfactory manner (I think I did pretty well, all things considered), not because my voice shook the whole time (I only slipped up once, and covered it by coughing. :noway: ), not because little miss I've-interviewed-all-your-other-siblings-too wasn't the perfect picture of relaxation and confidence so as to draw me out of my shell (not that she did...). No, it failed because it was nothing (and.I.mean.nothing.) like what I had been dreading. All the five minute nightmares I had between 7 and 9 am the morning of the interview were nothing more than a waste of time (not to mention all the brain cells I must have killed during the process). The phone call went well (after I convinced them that yes, I was actually scheduled for December 15th), and in fifteen minutes (on the dot), she was thanking me for my time and reminding me that February 15th was my best bet.

Thank you, Sarah. You're a lovely interviewer. But I think I have post-epic-disappointment-syndrome. It entails sudden and passionate bursts of anger toward loved ones, not necessarily kept to myself, and then a long stretch of absolute bliss as the world revolves around me in a timely fashion and I am once again perfectly happy with everyone, which *is* mostly kept to myself. It started last night and threw that theory all mothers have about how sleep cures everything out the window. I don't think I've ever had a conversation where I bounced back and forth between anger and amusement so entirely, and so quickly. But I'm guessing the amusement was because of the skill of the personage I was speaking with, not me and the anger was due entirely to this wonderful excuse I've come up with, not me.

Either way, I woke up with a 'people are stupid' mentality this morning, worrying my mother to death as I laid on her bed and hid under her covers for a solid hour. After I got tired of sulking and feeling horrible about existence, I decided to do what I always do when I get in a bad mood.

Yep. I'm a one track trick pony. My notebook suffers for it, but at least it relieves the rest of the world from dealing with my traumatic moods. I need to take some crash course lessons from Steve on just how to do it most effectively, obviously.

Anyway. Christmas is coming, so make sure you *don't* take lessons from me, and actually get your loved ones gifts. And make sure you're extra, extra appreciative so they can blush and act all tough-as-nails while you tell them just how much you love them and how sweet they were to think of you, and how well they must know you to think of such a great gift.