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Stuff Rachel Fucking Hates

The hilarious thing – if I had to pick just one hilarious thing – about applying to graduate school for writing fiction is that it takes all the time and energy and emotional wherewithal that you would normally use to write fiction. Maybe this is not true of other people. Maybe it is just true of me, for whom looking at online forms, even just looking at them, even when all they are asking about is what scholarships I had is just absolutely incapacitating. Why do they want to know which scholarships I had. I don’t get it. One nice thing though was that they included a text box asking me to fill in to what extent higher education caused my family financial hardship and how, I had 500 characters and that was kind of cathartic.

Anyways. This is a long, hard, weird thing. I kind of hate it. I have not even gotten to the personal statement/statement of purpose/choosing of samples for the actual writing part of the application. That part will be really fucking difficult. Not only because that is a lot of text and therefore intrinsically more difficult than just checking off boxes, but because it may actually force one to confront those questions – what is my intent? Why am I even doing this? What have I written in the last six years that is good? What have I written in the last six years that is the least bad? Do daily fixes count? No.

I guess basically I am trying to warn you: whereas this was once Thesis Whining Central, it may become Hyperventilating w/r/t Grad School Applications City for the next couple weeks, and sorry, because that probably sucks. There are people with good blogs about being in grad school, you could read those instead. Or just go back and read Heather’s letter to the Old Spice guy, I liked that.

Oh also my fancy Droid phone finally sputtered out completely last week and has been basically totally inoperable with the exception of sending my mother the same text message multiple times a day/in the middle of the night, which is freaking her out/making her think I am haunted. I had to pay out of pocket for a replacement phone, which is a fucking Blackberry of all things, and which I cannot activate even after like an hour on the Verizon site, which can I just say, why do they even have a site. It would be just as useful to have a blank page and they would save a lot on the webmaster’s salary. Anyhow I just wanted you to know that as soon as I figure this ish out I am going to be one of those obnoxious Foursquaring assholes faster than you can say “unfollow on Twitter.” FUCK YES.

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Things Rachel Fucking Hates

Batia totally could have liveblogged Eurovision, she was like this close to doing it, but she didn’t. Aren’t you kind of hurt? I’m kind of hurt. I now have no idea what’s happening with Eurovision, other than the cryptic missive “Lithuania was robbed.” That could be all I ever know. Thanks a lot, Batia.

Catfail We were going to get a cat. His name is Bruce, and I had it on good authority that he was “a quality cat.” Unfortunately he has instead gone to some fucking pinko commie who’s living in the liberal oasis in the west of the state. That’s fine, cat. Eat your vegan soba noodle salad or some shit, I don’t even care.

I can’t fucking find my fucking apron for my fucking job I am irrationally afraid of being fired, at the same time as I am more realistically afraid of having to quit because I get a full-time job. Also, here is a conversation I had at said job yesterday:

Other barista: What school did you go to again?

Me: [Redacted].

Other barista: Oh, I know someone who used to go there! David [redacted]? He graduated two or three years ago.

Me: Sorry, I’ve never heard of him.

Other barista: Really? He was a great guy, and he was really friendly, he like, knew everyone. I’m surprised you don’t know him.

Me: Yeah, I don’t know, I’m pretty antisocial.

Other barista: ….oh.

I am at all times about 45 seconds away from a panic attack about moving I have no idea how I am going to fit all my shit into like sixteen boxes that we stole from a liquor store, and I keep trying to motivate myself to do it by telling myself that if I go through all my stuff I will come across my apron for work in there somewhere, but I fear that that is not even true.

It is so hard for me to figure out how to do things on this new computer, I am so fucking dumb Now the only electronic device I have that I feel confident I am smarter than is my blender.

Also I think I killed my cilantro plant It’s probably symbolic

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