Apocalypse

These days, I feel like a death row inmate enjoying her last meal before execution.

Thus far, I have received 3 acceptances and 1 rejection (which happened back in December -- and for the record, I have completely gotten over it). Still waiting on 7 more schools -- 3 of which are pretty much lottery tickets that I doubt I'll cash in on, 2 private schools on the East Coast that I really hope to attend, and 2 UCs that I would not mind attending.

Recently, I've gotten into the habit of reading the forums on College Confidential. I don't think it's the healthiest habit to do, but I can't help it. In truth, I am getting very worried about UCLA. G has been getting all these letters and e-mails from UCLA and I have not received anything other than a phone call from months ago telling me to apply for the alumni scholarship. I've heard that there were plenty of people last year who got into Cal but not UCLA -- but that's hardly any consolation, because UCLA decisions come out before Cal. I doubt I'd feel very good about my chances at Cal if I am rejected at UCLA.

And it's not really that I am dying to go to UCLA or Cal. I really want to get into Cal because my father really wants me to go to that school and I have a lot of friends there -- but if I get into my east coast schools, chances are I'm heading east.

I hate all this waiting. It just gives me weird dreams.

Two nights ago, I had a dream I had to go to a Harvard interview. They had sent me an e-mail, but I ignored it for a about a week before deciding to go visit the interviewer because I was bored. Instead of meeting at some strictly business location like Microsoft, I was given the address to a really luxurious mansion with an ivy-covered iron gate and Greek marble columns. The gate opened for me and I walked inside the reception room, which resembled a hospital waiting room. There were a ton of people in there, all very beautiful and model-like with unproportionally long legs and slim torsos. For some reason, I knew exactly where I was going. I walked the gigantic spiral staircase and down one of the halls on the third floor. The whole place seemed eerily glamorous, with beautiful people dressed in exotic garments everywhere I looked. Finally, I reached one room with double doors, and without even knocking, I opened the door and walked into a master bedroom. I started admiring all of the artful decor that breathed of luxury until an elderly yet youthfully childlike woman greeted me and asked why I was here. I explained the circumstances, and then she started shaking the sleeping figure in the bed awake. The sleeping figure roared and threw off the sheets before suddenly transforming from an elderly man to someone I would not be surprised to see gracing a Dior Homme advertisement in my mother's fashion magazines. He yelled at me for not responding to his e-mails and then shoved me down the stairs and out the door before slamming the gates.

Good sign? I think not.