c'mon feel the illinoise!

sup fools.

Since we last talked, I was rejected from NYU (what I deserve for arrogantly stating I've never been denied admission to a university), making Northwestern my default choice for graduate school. It's still the city, it's still an amazing program, and it has the benefit of being chock full of familiar faces, and close to this stupid little college campus I've grown to love.

but it's not new york, and every year I don't move there feels more like a failure. The goal is 25 though, so let's just keep aiming for that. it's not going anywhere.

In other news, I am 100% confident that for the rest of my life, I will fall into deep, hopeless, irreconcilable lust with incredibly tall, extremely mysterious men. It's a blessing and a curse. Unfortunately, being in the throes of wild, lustful interest just leaves me with incredibly vivid dreams that I wish were true when I wake up. Because I am nothing if not a little girl about things like this (and the majority of other matters, to be honest.)

I just realized that I am moving around the country in the same order as Sufjan Stevens albums. Let's hope life doesn't take me to Minnesota after grad school. (unless I'm working for the Utne Reader, in which case, yes please.)

Tomorrow: a list of things i'm onto lately, then no more updates for the rest of the weekend, unless St. Patty's prove to be epically interesting in some way that doesn't involve me drinking to excess.

like, no big, or anything

Dear Sarah:

Congratulations! The Admissions Committee has approved your application to Medill’s Master of Science in Journalism program. Your program of studies will begin in the Summer 2008 quarter.Orienation is tentatively scheduled for Monday, June 23, 2008. We will be holding our Open House for Admitted Students on Thursday and Friday, April 10 and 11, and you should be receiving an invitation to this event via email and postal mail soon.

So, you know, there's that. Their sports teams suck, and their colors are stupid, but it's a definite upgrade. Also, I have yet to be rejected from an institution of higher learning to which I've applied.

I fucking rule.

my muse is a precocious little girl

I feel like I always jabber about being a writer, and writing, and blah blah blah so I should just stop being a pansy and post some writing. Don't worry — you'll never come here and find full drafts of short stories. Just some snippets I've written here and there.

So, in that spirit, today while writing with some friends, I was challenging myself to be brief. Here are two short-short stories, in less than 100 words.

Eloise sat in the basement room and began to unravel the rug again. She had woven and unraveled the same red, black and white fibers more times than there are spines on a cactus. If she had woven the same pattern twice, she didn't know. Diamonds, mandalas, chevrons, paisley swirls all emerged from the same beaten, fuzzy threads. The futility of her task may be cause for concern — but probably not.

I have never been any good at spelling. Inappropriate and unwelcome letters crop up in the middle of words where they are uninvited, like the static shock of a doorknob early in the morning. But I can spell onomatopoeia perfectly; strange vowel clusters snared by the siren song of the flypaper in my synapses. That pesky third "n" in begining, or the extravagent "e" in withe, however, manage to escape.

###

goodnight, sweet prince

Oh, baby. The results of Heath Ledger's autopsy show that he died from an "accidental drug overdose," if you consider swallowing Viocdin, Oxy, Xanax, Valium and two different kinds of sleeping pills an accident.

At least we know you weren't trying to off yourself, but something was hurting you awful bad.

Now, off to drink myself silly and watch you woo Julia Stiles with Frankie Valli songs.