Heretic Pride

fucking smoked ‘em. 

I do one of two things:

go running

or

take an insanely long nap. 

Everyone who has ever said they enjoy a runner’s high is just another person whose clearly never experienced a napper’s high. Cats are brilliant, naps are the nicest. 

I finally received my official notice from UCSD that I’ve been accepted by the university, not just the department. I didn’t really think it would have such an effect on me, but they sent me a tiny letter that looks so professional and is signed personally by the department head and it closes by saying “I am pleased to welcome you to UCSD” and then at the bottom it indicates what quarter and what intended program, and in bold, as if I’d somehow forgotten how heavy the words were in their own right, the writer thinking “This needs more, it needs more weight”, she strokes:

Program: M.F.A in Literature

Major: Writing

and I know that those words shouldn’t mean that much and I know that Stanford is a better school, simply fact, but Journalism is something I want to do because I feel I’d be very happy at it and I’d excel at it and I’d get a chance to travel and see the world and hopefully one day surround myself in architecture (because that is what I want to write about, critically) and it also provides an opportunity at a stable job and a loving house, but to write…

I have taken one creative writing class in my entire life. I applied to Creative Writing programs simply because my father was supportive of the idea and said that if I’m too young in my journalism experience, perhaps I can prove through writing alone that Im fit for the textual world. And so I did that. But I never honestly expected to get in. It is a craft where I feel I have learned very, very little, and yet have already proved enough worth to be granted a finer education, and I feel that ignoring this gift would be irresponsible. 

I feel so sad putting No in my decision box, but being a novelist is simply too unrealistic a goal to have, especially in a time when the physical document is fast fading and stores are falling inwards, no longer having enough books to even hold them up. 

I really, honestly, 100% did not expect to get into Stanford, but I am at least smart enough to realize that turning them down would be a terrible mistake, as it is one of the finest universities in the country. 

But to see my name on a bookshelf would be so… perfect. 

I find this feeling to be so strong, that it’s entered my Life Lessons list.

I made that list up just right now, so bear with it’s bareness.