Dear God, I miss college…

Posted: October 14, 2011 in Self-Deprecation
Tags: , , , ,

Over the past three days of not touching this running work-in-progress of mine, I’ve still been glued to the keyboard.  That feat, in and of itself, is comparable to achieving peace in the Middle freaking East using insult comedy.  I’ve got one of those short-circuited brains that can be easily distracted by a shiny object.

Damn.  Maybe typing this up in the kitchen was a bad idea in the first place.  Anyway, back to the whole plugged in marathon of mine.  I’m desperately trying to get my foot in the door for a master’s program– because this B.A. in creative writing cost me a chunk of change the size of Kirstie Alley’s ass in full-out binge mode.  That coveted piece of paper isn’t helping me cover the tab either.  This means scrounging up application materials and dropping lines to professors for letters of recommendation.  I feel like a circus monkey, but I’m undaunted.  I’d ride a unicycle across a burning tightrope, juggling hand grenades, with a honey badger in my pants– just to land a slot in a MFA program.

No witty OnMouseOver Easter Egg here.

Yeah, this is how I excelled my last year or so at college. Common wisdom is for people with senses of self-preservation.

Anyway, one of the items required for the application packet is a ~10 page analytic writing example.  I figured that this’d be a cakewalk, so I ran to my backup directory to recycle a research paper, just like back in the day.  At this point, I realized that the only thing I had to work with (that wouldn’t require an unholy shitton of filler) was my old English 523 final.  I figured that hey, it was a linguistic analysis of Pittsburghese, it’d work just perfectly (totally flouting the fact that I’m applying to Cleveland State University).  How much work could a 500-level paper warrant, especially since it landed me a B on the final?

So much for the whole dust-off routine.  I spent the better part of two days and nights revamping the entire botched abortion.  I’m embarrassed that I even submitted this abomination unto God and Man as my work.  The grammar was more awkward than Hollywood stereotypes of foreigners, if it was even correct at all.  Not to mention, I hadn’t touched the freaking subject in… oh… almost nine freaking years.  Go figure, I can write better completely shithoused hammered than I could when I had a masochistic fetish for 50+ hour final paper binges.  Makes me happy to know that the professor in question skimmed the pile of shit, threw it up a flight of stairs, and graded it upon where it landed.

Ladies and gentlemen...  Stephen Colbert.

Only in my case, it was my coffee table.

I’m just glad I had the foresight to read it over… you know, before I attempted to use it to get into a freaking master’s program.  It actually felt good to do work again, and after I finished rebuilding that sucker– I found the inspiration to finish the accompanying short story that also needs to get into the packet.

You know the real world blows goats when you want to go back to college– especially when you’ve put in the torturous length of time that I did to grind out a measly B.A…. one that looks pretty on my wall, and collects more dust than steak knife in a vegan kitchen.  Screw it, nothing risked, nothing gained.

If this doesn’t work… well that whole sentiment goes out the window.

Unplug.

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