The Waiting

So, I got wait-listed by MIT. Their succint letter promises that it's a short list. It ought to be, considering that every year they admit Jesus but not the Pope.

Since this was not necessarily a yes or a no, I have no idea how to feel about it. I've been feeling that a lot lately; I've been preserving the status quo, or it's been preserving itself upon me, but I'm getting sick of the same and I don't know why I should keep it.

I'm trying to sell to my conscious what a miniscule percentage of the world's population would ever have the chance to be even wait-listed by MIT, but this isn't much of an argument to someone who feels inherently entitled to greatness.

Mostly, I'm bored. In Madison everyone seems to be doing something exciting, or at least interesting, a lot of the time. It sucks on the same front because everyone is too busy to meet me. This is a lot of the reason I wish I were back in school, or never left. I want to be back in a tight spot with a whole bunch of people my own age that I have a reason to talk to and don't feel old or like an impostor. The military is out of the question, so I have to think of something else.

I didn't bike today, as it rained on our springtime parade, but I'm starting to feel more like a Madison cyclist. Until I got into upscale bike shops and look at the prices. Then I remember I'm a Dig-n-Save shopper who happens to own a bike.

$11.50 for a hamburger? $100 for a bike seat? You must be crazy.

I hung shutters today. It was nice. That was before the rain, when it wasn't nice anymore. But I feel like I'm hitting the 1000-hour wall, with not really that long to go on my 1700-hour term. I had it in the back of my mind that Americorps would be something cool and socially worthwhile to do while I sorted things out, applied for stuff and had a good time. Now that my applications have mostly dead-ended, I haven't sorted things out and don't know that many people, work is my only thing. It's a good thing, and building house shuts off the neurotic part of my brain, but I never wanted to end up with work as my only solid thing.

There. I just psychoanalyzed myself in a paragraph. What have you done today? Watched American Idol? Translated Hebrew? Swam in South America? Big deal, people. I can't tell you how many times I've done all those things at once.

Actually, I can tell you exactly how many times. Five.

The real basis of the 1000-hour wall is that nice guy-Americorps worker is having some trouble staying afloat, and indifferent yet belligerent self is beginning to surface. It makes for better writing, but not for better mentoring and drywall hanging.

The potatoes and the beans are mixing on the plate.