UCLA is Trying to Kill Me
Editor's Note: I originally wrote this on Tuesday night, but did not immediately post it because it made me sound so crazy. But then, I spoke to some other students at CCSF waiting to hear back from UCLA, and I decided that our stories should be told. We no longer have to suffer in silence. This blog is dedicated to my SPCH2 peeps.
Setting: My living room. The couch there is green. The carpet is beige, and of the wall-to-wall style.
Characters: Just Melanie. Striking eyes, voluminous hair, forlorn look shadowing her face like a veil of mystery.
Internal dialogue as follows:
So, UCLA said they would get back to me regarding their judgment of my character, I mean, admission decision, in late April. That is SO VAGUE. As far as I'm concerned, late April started on March 20th, so my neurotic ass has been checking their admission website at least once a day since then. Although, as it gets to be undeniably late April, I check it more often. Today I checked it four times, including once right now which you would think wouldn't make any sense because it's 11:11 PM and who the fuck admits a young girl from New York to college this late at night? Key words: You would think.
Those educated mofos sent me an email last week at 10:20 PM to ask me a question about my application. 10:20 PM. What the hell are they trying to do, kill me? It's like there is a bullet heading for my eye, and it could be filled with a really cool and refreshing contact lens solution or it could be filled with that acid that they used to burn Roger Rabbit and I have no idea what's in the bullet, and there is no way to tell, and it could come at any time, day or night. I would sleep with my eyes open, but that's dangerous when there is a bullet aimed at your eye.
Also, I'll bet they can see how many times I check that shit, and they were initially going to let me in, but now they're not and it's because they think I'm crazy and should just wash my teeth and go to sleep instead of obsessing over something I have zero control over. Yes, I said 'wash my teeth.' And I meant it.
Setting: My living room. The couch there is green. The carpet is beige, and of the wall-to-wall style.
Characters: Just Melanie. Striking eyes, voluminous hair, forlorn look shadowing her face like a veil of mystery.
Internal dialogue as follows:
So, UCLA said they would get back to me regarding their judgment of my character, I mean, admission decision, in late April. That is SO VAGUE. As far as I'm concerned, late April started on March 20th, so my neurotic ass has been checking their admission website at least once a day since then. Although, as it gets to be undeniably late April, I check it more often. Today I checked it four times, including once right now which you would think wouldn't make any sense because it's 11:11 PM and who the fuck admits a young girl from New York to college this late at night? Key words: You would think.
Those educated mofos sent me an email last week at 10:20 PM to ask me a question about my application. 10:20 PM. What the hell are they trying to do, kill me? It's like there is a bullet heading for my eye, and it could be filled with a really cool and refreshing contact lens solution or it could be filled with that acid that they used to burn Roger Rabbit and I have no idea what's in the bullet, and there is no way to tell, and it could come at any time, day or night. I would sleep with my eyes open, but that's dangerous when there is a bullet aimed at your eye.
Also, I'll bet they can see how many times I check that shit, and they were initially going to let me in, but now they're not and it's because they think I'm crazy and should just wash my teeth and go to sleep instead of obsessing over something I have zero control over. Yes, I said 'wash my teeth.' And I meant it.
posted by Melanie Kameko at
11:15 PM
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