I Was Just Denied Acceptance Into Grad School

You know what? Sometimes life doesn’t go as you fucking planned.

I mean, look at me: I’m currently sitting on the floor of my closet wearing my brother’s beat up army shirt from ages ago and my boyfriend’s basketball shorts, hiding away in here because I can blog with the light on and the door closed without fear of waking up my sleeping manfriend or the housemates. It is currently those hours between Wednesday and Thursday and I just got off a 14-hour shift babysitting. My primary source of calories today has been from the two beers I just inhaled.

On Monday I found out I didn’t get the job. Big whoop, right? It’s only the 6th or 7th or 8th interview I’ve had. I can take rejection. At least they let me know this time.

On Tuesday, which I’m not sure if I can still count as “yesterday” (it’s currently between Wednesday and Thursday, remember?), I found out I’m not going to graduate school. I can blame a billion factors, but I won’t get into those right meow. The point is that I really fucking wanted to go, and I’m not, so now I have to draft and implement a Plan B.

I just got off a 14-hour work shift nannying for three kids. 14 hours! That almost beats my longest time stuck in an airport!

It’s only Wednesday, or maybe Thursday, but it’s been a hell of a week. And you know what? Oh well.

My life has been one exploration after another, and for the first time, someone has told me “No, you don’t get to go on this adventure.” Did I really really really want to go to this particular grad school starting this particular fall? Yes. Will I find myself some other ridiculous shenanigans to get myself into? You better bet your venti iced vanilla lattes I will.

I usually cry over these sorts of things, and I have yet to shed a tear over this. Because this is part of growing up, right? We can’t always get what we want, even if we really really really want it.

I’m a grown ass woman in a closet wearing zero clothes that belong to me; it’s hard to take some things too seriously.