caprices: (Default)
This essay is kicking my butt. I need to explain my academic ambitions (stay in school! Get degree! Get another degree!), my personal achievements (dance! art! crazy diets backed by a modicum of critical thinking and science!) and how the scholarship will help me (it would pay half of my tuition for one year). Alas, I keep wanting to tell the story of how I diagnosed myself, which doesn't actually fit very well into the 1-2 page limit. >.<

It didn't help that I slept terribly this morning and lost three hours this afternoon because I was napping/reestablishing that I am not an awful, awful person because I doodled during lecture. Granted, I did doodle a LOT, but still, we try not to consider it a moral failing on par with committing felonies. It's hard to remember, though, when the sleep deprivation and the prednisone-tapering-process is blowing everything out of proportion. It was their fault in the first place, anyway.

The good news is that when I stormed into the apartment, in the sort of mood where one feels perfectly justified in flinging oneself at walls, my garbled "I'm in a bad mood and if you don't like it you can go to campus!" did not freak out Ix. It did not offend him either. Apparently, he was just really, really perplexed and had no idea what I was talking about.
caprices: (Default)
It's been a crazy couple of days with the prednisone. Our time between lectures isn't long enough for me to go a have a meltdown and get back to class on time. Today's meltdown, brought on by too little sleep and overhearing this conversation: The girls sitting behind me were griping to each other about their scholarships.

"This is so hard, but I have an idea. I will write about how I was always the little outcast kid whose pets were her friends."
"Did you get more than last year?"
"No, about the same."
"I got less. But that's okay. I still got more than five hundred."
"Yeah, same here."
"More would have been nice."
"But writing these is so hard."

Me: "Ah, scholarships?"

"Writing the thank you notes is such a pain, though."

Me: *simmer* "Just be glad you get scholarships."

Them: *shock and self-righteous indignation* "But of course we're glad to get scholarships. It's just figuring out what to write that's hard..."

It was a bad day for me to hear about other's angsting over how to respond to their free money. My car got towed by my apartment company yesterday, and I had to pay its ransom of $152.80. For the nth year in a row, I received a very brief letter from the scholarship committee about how I am a commendable candidate but they could not offer me any scholarships at this time. You always wonder, while holding the nice thick paper with its brief missive, what you did wrong on the application. What did you write or not write that disqualifies you year after year from the seemingly bountiful supply of scholarships? And then you dump it into the recycling bin, because you don't have to save the address or write any thank-you notes detailing your oh-so-bittersweet childhood surrounded by loving animals. I can see how scholarship committees prefer the students with cute animal stories and perfect GPAs, though. Definitely more upbeat than "I survived three years with a hematocrit of ten, but my classwork took a hit."

I was more upset over it than I actually was, but unfortunately the prednisone does not make the distinction between annoyed versus miserable. As soon as I get upset at all, it seems, anything I can be upset about comes to the surface, which means heading off for some quiet breathing time in an empty room. I think this particular pair of girls richly deserved a reminder that it is a PRIVILEGE to get scholarships, even if they've gotten them every year they've been in school, but it probably would have been more effective coming from someone who was less obviously emotionally imbalanced at the time...

June 2014

2223242526 2728


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Oct. 24th, 2017 04:08 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios