When I Grow Up

I received my first grad school form-rejection letter yesterday. Three or four people most likely sat in metal folding chairs and watched light projected behind a reproduction of my drawings. If one blinked, she might have missed the image. Then they moved on.

It's amazing how this minor nod makes one feel so completely unsettled. It's as if my brain isn't connected to the motions my hands make, and the ideas that pass in and out are foreign to others. If I tried to speak to the panel, it would sound like Swedish, or a metaphor from high school creative writing class. Then again, I've been told I'm too sensitive.

I'm thinking that if this whole starving artist thing doesn't work out, I might give competitive eating a try. Did you hear that a 100-pound woman ate 26 grilled cheese sandwiches in 10 minutes last week? She was thereby declared winner of the World Grilled Cheese Eating Championship. Atleast that career move would solve the whole hunger issue.