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Worked all last night on my Novalis presentation, which is too long but rather fun to think about, and awoke to find that my Greek professor has canceled the early morning class for which I did not do the homework. The universe favors German poets, apparently.


I had four meetings with professors yesterday, three directly related to my recommendation letters, and one just as life direction. The things I've hear are, that they all want me to figure out my direction in academics before they write their letters, so that they can coordinate, and that waiving my right to see the letter will make the people reading it feel more assured of its contents being sincere.

A number of people told me that I am well-organized and on top of things. Doesn't feel like it, but hey, I'll take it.

I also heard back from the admissions person I emailed at my current top choice university, who told me the general range of verbal scores they take (mine was inside the range, tho perhaps on the low end), and that if I retake the GRE's and the results come in before mid January I can probably get them the information before too late.

So, in other words, one bad day did not fuck up my life entirely, and I can relax and work these things out.

Four days later . . . .

Date: 2008-11-23 12:56 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
How does one describe the feeling of reading a post that talks about "one bad day" fucking up a life, four days later on the 22nd birthday of the fuck-up in question? How does one explain to the cyber-universe that no GRE score is relevant to the way the heavens heralded the arrival of this most perfect baby in the world, the shouts of joy that went out into the stratosphere when this soul met the light of day?

Can one describe the exhausted adoration of the parents who remembered to pray, the way the BCP tells us to, for the arrival of only this one child?

Can one convey the relief that the threatening placenta previa had been controlled, that the baby was born perfect despite months of bleeding that inspired all with fear?

Can one convey the effect of the beauty that drew stares of apprciation from passersby?

Can one explain that one knew from age two that this child was born for words, born for langauges, born for writing?

Born with the courage to overcome any threat with pawing hooves and pointed horns, as the pool was conquered at age three?

Born with the dogged dignity that refused to compromise with the school yard bullies by assuming the vapid guise of adolescence?

Born with the determination to understand every single subject, whether physics or Latin, to the point where you can delight in it?

There is no GRE that can stop you, my love. The GRE is a phantom that only pretends to know your destiny, which is, as it has ever been, in God's hands. You were designed by God for the life of the mind. God's will cannot be undone by a phantom.

Happy Birthday. Mom

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