Vitamin C (tierfal) wrote,
Vitamin C
tierfal

Once upon a time...

...it was a good day.

eltea and I had a three-hour conversation last night while her roommate was out getting wasted and mine was presumably out studying the Bible, and then I was up until four writing a story for some random challenge I found on deviantART, at which point I sent it to her, as she was doing homework for her writing class.  At which point she was like, "What about that first thing you made up?", which I had forgotten.  At which point I was like, "I'll write that tomorrow and stick it in..."  At which point I finally went to bed.

Despite the ungodly hour, I can sleep in until ten and still get to my eleven o'clock class with time to spare, so I did.  I was actually more awake than usual.  I wrote the scene I'd managed to skip before and during the lecture, which as an interesting one.  Writing the date for my notes, I remembered that today was the day that English class admittances were going to be posted.

This would be rage-i-er if all the fight hadn't gone out of me about thirty seconds ago.

I was really excited sitting through that hour and a half of class.  But I knew at gut-level on the stairs up to the third floor of the hall with the English offices that I wasn't going to see my name on that list.

Good news is, the class I modeled my entire schedule around summarily rejected me!  I didn't even make the fucking WAITLIST!  Oh, what a glorious day in my personal history.  What a triumph.

Either every one of those twenty people is a senior minoring in Creative Writing -- or said they were -- or my soul just isn't good enough.  Maybe next time I should turn in something where some emo character sits on his bed in the dark and thinks about race and history and death, and I'll get in, because that seems to be the only thing these fucking elitists understand.  If there's, you know, PLOT, and, you know, DIALOGUE, that's not literature; that's hack writing.

This just feels so goddamn personal.  That was a good writing sample.  I know I'm good at what I do.  I try to be modest about it when applicable, but really?  Yes, I can write.  I'm pretty good at it.  I've been working towards being pretty good at it for six years now.  Evidently, despite all that, I'm just not good enough for these people.  And at a school this size, they don't even owe me a fucking explanation.  It's a yes, or it's a no, and that's it.  It's over.  So much for all the abstract daydreams and the bubbling anticipation.  So much for, you know, hope and shit.

Fucking hell.


If and when I finish that dA story later, I'll post the link.

I now have a shitload of homework to do and even less motivation to do it than I had before.

Game over.

I almost want to boycott that class as a matter of principle, but I'll probably just set myself up for another fall next semester and try to get in again.  I won't have changed, or not markedly, and I doubt that they will have either.

Someone on RateMyProfessors.com said that the teacher I was signing up for had made people quit writing.  Interesting that everything I'm working on now looks terribly juvenile now, and I didn't even have to meet her.
Tags: school
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