I’ve been dealing with a little disappointment.
I failed my driver’s test yesterday with a 92%. No, that doesn’t sound like a failure, does it? 92% is generally something like an A grade, right? Well, not when you drive like a total idiot and in a state of nervous wondering if you will past the test, disregard right-of-way rules of the road.
Woops.
I had two “dangerous actions” marked against me. Apparently, a “dangerous action” is an automatic fail. Having two of them in a 10-minute time span was quite humiliating for me. I spent my evening feeling worthless and incompetent.
After the drive home, which included several furious steering-wheel-pounding fits (from me, the bad driver), I decided to try to channel my anger into something productive—I was going to write my University of Chicago admission essay. This University has been one of my favorite schools for the past couple of months; not to mention it’s one of the most selective schools in the country. I’d been planning on applying to U. of Chicago for a while, but didn’t actually get around to it because of the new creative essay I would have to write. The University of Chicago prides itself on its “Uncommon Application” and its truly uncommon, absurdly original essays. I was excited to write them, but I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy task.
But guess what? I won’t be writing any Chicago essays at all. The application deadline was yesterday. I began the application yesterday.
Forget about it. There was, and I struggle to put this politely, no fucking way I could have written good essays in a matter of hours. NO FUCKING WAY. Even if I did bust my ass to write those essays, I would have still had to get a high school transcript and recommendation letters submitted. IN A MATTER OF HOURS.
So it didn’t happen. Now forget about applying to my dream school.
I didn’t get my driver’s license and I didn’t apply to Chicago. I felt like dying.
I’d been feeling kind of worthless over the entirety of Christmas Break. Yesterday didn’t really boost my spirits.
On the upside, though, and yes thank God, there was an upside, I received an acceptance e-mail from the University of Denver. Now that, I was very happy about. I found enough positive feelings in me to wave my arms in the air in a sort of happy dance.
The University of Denver is my top choice for college next year. Thankfully I did have the sense to apply to that school.
Though I still feel like a failure.
I woke up early for work today, though, and felt slightly better. For starters, my hair behaved itself this morning. After 5 minutes with my straightener, I actually looked…decent. That’s really something for 7:30 AM.
Then the weather was nice. All day. The sun wasn’t too bright, the snow wasn’t too much, and the temperature was just right. It was perfect.
I looked out my window all day at work again at the Nordstrom shoppers, and I felt a breeze against my face. I don’t know where exactly it came from, but I couldn’t complain about a pleasant breeze fanning my hair out all day. It was brilliant.
I also had captured my brother’s 80 GB ipod. Quite unfortunately, my younger brother is more technologically advanced (mp3 player-wise) than I am. I currently do not own an mp3 player. I left my old Creative Zen at a hotel, and with my excellent procrastinating skills, I never called to ask about a lost-and-found. So I stole my even-younger brother’s mp3 player that he found on a train. Now that one’s almost broken. I am now a sad music enthusiast without any suitable form of portable song. So I quite enjoyed having my entire itunes library with me all day.
This is what I listened to the entire way home:
I’ve actually never seriously listened to The Killers before, outside of a few exciting renditions of “Somebody Told Me” and “Jenny Was A Friend of Mine.”
But this game, Guitar Hero 3 (which my brother, the ipod owner, bought with his Christmas Best Buy gift card), turned me into a big fan of “When You Were Young.” So I listened to the whole Sam’s Town album. It was great.
Sam’s Town was nice listening for my bus ride home. Due to my not yet having a license (arrgghh) and my parents’ inability to pick me up everywhere all the time, I was taking the bus home. The bus has always been something exciting for me. There are always all these weird people that I get to interact with. I enjoy people-watching. RTD buses are probably some of the best places to do that. I go into observative mode when I’m in the midst of all these strangers.
Since there’s not too much else to do, I sometimes sneak glances at a person and do my best at determining who they are. Yeah, it’s kind of judgmental, and “you can’t judge a book by its cover,” and all that. But I like reading people.
I saw a young kid step on the 16th Street Mall shuttle today full of facial piercings, clad in skinny jeans and big shoes, clutching a Virgin Megastores bag, and seeming very nervous and uncomfortable. You, I thought, are a sad insecure little kid with a lot of money. Your gender remains unknown. (Hope they’ll never read this blog! Sorry Virgin Megastores kid!)
In my people-watching adventures, I also discovered that there is an alarming amount of people playing Sudoku.
Sudoku people are everywhere. Have you noticed? They are taking over the world. Look on a bus, in a coffee shop, on park benches, in bookstores, and you will find someone playing Sudoku. And it’s not like Sudoku people are just old ladies with nothing better to do after they’ve fed all their cats. No, there are all sorts of Sudoku people! I just saw a young guy today in business attire poring over a Sudoku book in Peaberry Coffee. I can’t help but wonder…why do these people do it? What is the purpose of this game (besides, of course, the whole number thing)? And how could anyone really be that bored?
As I was walking through downtown pondering our culture’s Sudoku phenomenon, I arrived at my 2nd bus stop. Every time I am at this downtown bus stop, I swear to high goodness, a crazy guy always comes to sit right by me. Being a young girl, I guess I’m a crazy/drunk guy magnet. Either that, or they've developed some conspiratorial plan to harass redheads. I can’t say it’s not interesting, but it’s definitely creepy. Today was no exemption from downtown’s unique characters. About 2 minutes after I leaned myself against a fence at the bus stop, who comes to sit and the end of the bench and talk to me but a crazy guy!! He asked me the time. I told him. He asked me what route I was on. I told him. He asked me the time again. I told him. He started talking to me a lot about strange and random things, stopping at intervals to ask me questions. I wasn’t sure if I should ignore him or give him witty, smart-assed answers. I mostly ignored him. Someday, though, I’d just love to speak completely freely to one of those crazy guys. I probably would have, had it not been for all the other sane people waiting with me. They would have looked at me weird. However, if those sane people weren’t there, I’d be out of my mind with fright in being all alone in the city with a psycho.
But one of these days…I’ll have a truly crazy conversation with a truly crazy guy. If he doesn’t, you know, kill me in the process.
I’ll make sure to write about it.
One of the reasons why I didn’t post anything yesterday was because I spent my entire evening in a miserable state of angry depression. I don’t find that to be a very easy writing attitude.
I failed my driver’s test yesterday with a 92%. No, that doesn’t sound like a failure, does it? 92% is generally something like an A grade, right? Well, not when you drive like a total idiot and in a state of nervous wondering if you will past the test, disregard right-of-way rules of the road.
Woops.
I had two “dangerous actions” marked against me. Apparently, a “dangerous action” is an automatic fail. Having two of them in a 10-minute time span was quite humiliating for me. I spent my evening feeling worthless and incompetent.
After the drive home, which included several furious steering-wheel-pounding fits (from me, the bad driver), I decided to try to channel my anger into something productive—I was going to write my University of Chicago admission essay. This University has been one of my favorite schools for the past couple of months; not to mention it’s one of the most selective schools in the country. I’d been planning on applying to U. of Chicago for a while, but didn’t actually get around to it because of the new creative essay I would have to write. The University of Chicago prides itself on its “Uncommon Application” and its truly uncommon, absurdly original essays. I was excited to write them, but I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy task.
But guess what? I won’t be writing any Chicago essays at all. The application deadline was yesterday. I began the application yesterday.
Forget about it. There was, and I struggle to put this politely, no fucking way I could have written good essays in a matter of hours. NO FUCKING WAY. Even if I did bust my ass to write those essays, I would have still had to get a high school transcript and recommendation letters submitted. IN A MATTER OF HOURS.
So it didn’t happen. Now forget about applying to my dream school.
I didn’t get my driver’s license and I didn’t apply to Chicago. I felt like dying.
I’d been feeling kind of worthless over the entirety of Christmas Break. Yesterday didn’t really boost my spirits.
On the upside, though, and yes thank God, there was an upside, I received an acceptance e-mail from the University of Denver. Now that, I was very happy about. I found enough positive feelings in me to wave my arms in the air in a sort of happy dance.
The University of Denver is my top choice for college next year. Thankfully I did have the sense to apply to that school.
Though I still feel like a failure.
I woke up early for work today, though, and felt slightly better. For starters, my hair behaved itself this morning. After 5 minutes with my straightener, I actually looked…decent. That’s really something for 7:30 AM.
Then the weather was nice. All day. The sun wasn’t too bright, the snow wasn’t too much, and the temperature was just right. It was perfect.
I looked out my window all day at work again at the Nordstrom shoppers, and I felt a breeze against my face. I don’t know where exactly it came from, but I couldn’t complain about a pleasant breeze fanning my hair out all day. It was brilliant.
I also had captured my brother’s 80 GB ipod. Quite unfortunately, my younger brother is more technologically advanced (mp3 player-wise) than I am. I currently do not own an mp3 player. I left my old Creative Zen at a hotel, and with my excellent procrastinating skills, I never called to ask about a lost-and-found. So I stole my even-younger brother’s mp3 player that he found on a train. Now that one’s almost broken. I am now a sad music enthusiast without any suitable form of portable song. So I quite enjoyed having my entire itunes library with me all day.
This is what I listened to the entire way home:
I’ve actually never seriously listened to The Killers before, outside of a few exciting renditions of “Somebody Told Me” and “Jenny Was A Friend of Mine.”
But this game, Guitar Hero 3 (which my brother, the ipod owner, bought with his Christmas Best Buy gift card), turned me into a big fan of “When You Were Young.” So I listened to the whole Sam’s Town album. It was great.Sam’s Town was nice listening for my bus ride home. Due to my not yet having a license (arrgghh) and my parents’ inability to pick me up everywhere all the time, I was taking the bus home. The bus has always been something exciting for me. There are always all these weird people that I get to interact with. I enjoy people-watching. RTD buses are probably some of the best places to do that. I go into observative mode when I’m in the midst of all these strangers.
Since there’s not too much else to do, I sometimes sneak glances at a person and do my best at determining who they are. Yeah, it’s kind of judgmental, and “you can’t judge a book by its cover,” and all that. But I like reading people.
I saw a young kid step on the 16th Street Mall shuttle today full of facial piercings, clad in skinny jeans and big shoes, clutching a Virgin Megastores bag, and seeming very nervous and uncomfortable. You, I thought, are a sad insecure little kid with a lot of money. Your gender remains unknown. (Hope they’ll never read this blog! Sorry Virgin Megastores kid!)
In my people-watching adventures, I also discovered that there is an alarming amount of people playing Sudoku.
Sudoku people are everywhere. Have you noticed? They are taking over the world. Look on a bus, in a coffee shop, on park benches, in bookstores, and you will find someone playing Sudoku. And it’s not like Sudoku people are just old ladies with nothing better to do after they’ve fed all their cats. No, there are all sorts of Sudoku people! I just saw a young guy today in business attire poring over a Sudoku book in Peaberry Coffee. I can’t help but wonder…why do these people do it? What is the purpose of this game (besides, of course, the whole number thing)? And how could anyone really be that bored?As I was walking through downtown pondering our culture’s Sudoku phenomenon, I arrived at my 2nd bus stop. Every time I am at this downtown bus stop, I swear to high goodness, a crazy guy always comes to sit right by me. Being a young girl, I guess I’m a crazy/drunk guy magnet. Either that, or they've developed some conspiratorial plan to harass redheads. I can’t say it’s not interesting, but it’s definitely creepy. Today was no exemption from downtown’s unique characters. About 2 minutes after I leaned myself against a fence at the bus stop, who comes to sit and the end of the bench and talk to me but a crazy guy!! He asked me the time. I told him. He asked me what route I was on. I told him. He asked me the time again. I told him. He started talking to me a lot about strange and random things, stopping at intervals to ask me questions. I wasn’t sure if I should ignore him or give him witty, smart-assed answers. I mostly ignored him. Someday, though, I’d just love to speak completely freely to one of those crazy guys. I probably would have, had it not been for all the other sane people waiting with me. They would have looked at me weird. However, if those sane people weren’t there, I’d be out of my mind with fright in being all alone in the city with a psycho.
But one of these days…I’ll have a truly crazy conversation with a truly crazy guy. If he doesn’t, you know, kill me in the process.
I’ll make sure to write about it.
No comments:
Post a Comment