Grad school applications were made by the devil. Or at least by a scarred prof who had atraumatizing experience with a grad school student and decided to make all our lives a living hell.
I hate filling out applications, trying to prove myself to other people. All it does is raise doubts and concerns about yourself: am I smart enough? good enough? motivated enough? do I really want to do this for the rest of my life?
One of the worst parts is asking your former profs for reference letters. Suddenly that paper that you only did half-assed is coming back to haunt you. Well, I'll see how this goes tomorrow, I guess. That's when I'm planning to start my begging. Hey Park, I haven't had you teach me in year, but how about you deciding my future for me? Thanks. Appreciate it.
On a completely other note, my mom took my dog to the vet the other day. He hurt his leg playing frisbee the other day and had been limping since. The vet checked him out: apparently Marley plays frisbee so hard that his shoulder dislocates somewhat and swells up. That just shows how hardcore he is. The vet described him as anxious. That's the understatement of the year.
Word of the day: prognosticate. Forecast. I prognosticate that tomorrow is gonna be a not-so-fun day.
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