Dead Lines

I need to stop believing myself. I distinctly wrote down that XXXX School’s deadline for applications was December 15^th. I distinctly wrote down that XXXXXXXX School’s deadline for applications was February 15^th. Boy, was I wrong. XXXX’s was December 1^st! and XXXXXXXX’s is December 5^th!

Poop.

Luckily I caught my wonderful advisor as he was trying to escape for his weekend. Seriously. I stopped him in the hall. Good times. He not only very graciously said he would get the recommendation for XXXXXXXXXX out super-quick, but he said that I should go ahead and apply to XXXX late, and he’d get that recommendation out toot-sweet too. He said that the department over there might not care that much about being a bit late.

I guess this is a psychic manifestation of my ambivalence toward XXXX School. The thing is that they’ve got two really great people that I’d love to work with, and it is a very well-respected school that would get me great connections and such, but… Ah… but but but… It’s in a place that I really don’t like. I’ve never lived there, but I’ve been through a few times, and it always frustrated me in heaps of ways. I shall apply. I hope I get accepted. I hope I get accepted somewhere else too.

I guess this is good because it’s a kick in the pants that’ll get me running on all the applications (7 total as of right now. Oh, 8 if we include XXXX). For those of you playing at home, that’s a minimum of $50 per application, plus another $15 per of the fine upstanding folks who extort from their GRE monopoly.

Now I’ve got to find the other reference-givers and oh, yeah, finish off my statement of purpose/research so that they’ll actually know where and for what they are referring me.

Bad Overread! Bad! Bad! Bad! This was all supposed to be done a long time ago!

Then there’s the stack of papers that didn’t get graded during Thanksgiving. And the paper for my seminar. And all the finals to grade when they come in next week. And a can’t miss photo gig on Sunday right in the middle of the day.