“Your file is now officially COMPLETE!”
I read it.
And then I read it again.
The twisting started somewhere below my stomach and it fanned up and out, the smile spreading into the furthest corners of my face.
I’ll know in a month.
I worked like a madman on my resume and statement of intent. The resume has been reworded, reworked, retooled. But that statement of intent is a work of art. My soul lives in that statement. I kept asking Maddie, who oversaw my futile first attempts, how to make it zestier. I’m hoping that the program faculty and admissions committee recognize that my letter is the culmination of so many of my life experiences.
And suddenly, I’m terrified. All of these nervous knots are building up inside of me, partially excitement, partially the dread of the “ding” of my phone announcing the arrival of a decision. Acceptance. Denial. My fate hangs in their hands. (Not really, but you get the idea.) There may be an interview. Should there be an interview, there may be an acceptance. And then a first day of school. And then….this could be it. This could be what defines me for the rest of forever.
“What do you do?” someone will ask, as they so often do.
“I’m a sex therapist,” I’ll say, straight-faced.
“No seriously,” they’ll say.
“Oh I’m serious.”
It’ll be good.
Unless, of course, it’s not. And then the “What do you do?” question will be answered with tears and fleeing. Or I will become the best legal software marketer that ever lived. Either that or the CIA will finally hire me as a spy. (Doubtful. My secret keeping abilities are on par with my cooking skills. Low.) There are options, I just like the first one best.
Keep your fingers crossed!!
During this process, I got a second set of transcripts from Loyola to be sure that I had sent the correct material and realized that they gave me a third minor. I had planned on having it, but wasn’t sure if I’d met the requirements for it – by the end, there was so much overlapping of credits that I had no idea what was going on. Nothing says liberal arts like: English, Sociology, and Women’s Studies and Gender Studies.
I got a phone call last night from a woman looking to contract out her social media and SEO work. Val, my old manager, had given her my information. We have a meeting next week. I’m thrilled! I had just had a conversation with Dad last week about how I wasn’t planning on doing any freelancing this year, but I guess I spoke too soon. Maybe. She’s a local author of children’s books. Awesome.
Carlos slept over at Kevin’s again last night. Without me. Apparently they’re buddies now. (Not jealous or anything, what?) I’m not going to lie, I woke up during the night expecting to find Carlos curled on my feet or against me. I missed the sound of his bell. I missed his grumpy yawn. I hope he behaved himself.
That reminds me to remind you of my absolute favorite Carlos story – it will also help explain where he learned some of his tricks.
When I was in Africa, Carlos lived with Jacob. Jacob bought really cheap butter one day and set it out on his counter in a dish. Throughout the week, the butter kept changing shape and eventually Jacob realized it was slowly disappearing. “This is what you get for buying cheap butter,” he thought to himself.
His friend John was at Jacob’s apartment one day when he saw the cat jump on the counter – a behavior I believe he learned while living there – and help himself to the butter.
As it turns out, it wasn’t cheap butter causing the butter shrinkage, it was the cat, who’d been sneaking bites from the stick for a week.
You can take the cat out of Chicago, but you can never take the Chicago out of the cat.