Expose.

Dear Blog,

I am so sorry that I have been neglecting you. But I'm back, and trying to squeeze in some posting whenever possible (which seems to be the wee hours of the morning lately). I must apologize dear web-log journal, which I created so lovingly. It seems with the start of the new semester I'm a little overwhelmed with schoolwork & new activities starting. It seems my old lazy habits are being tamed, and once again, the rigid comfort of structure is implementing itself into my everyday life. It's a nice feeling, and as much as I resent being stressed/overwhelmed, I learned last semester, that I thrive on structure. so....its good to be back. Let's see how long this motivation lasts.

I remember this time last year when I, and most of my peers, were in the midst of 'CollegeSearch08'. After talking to a few friends today, and reflecting (not so fondly), I am so glad I will never have to take the SAT again. I am also glad that I will never have to mail my entire life on paper to a bunch of strangers hoping they'll like me enough to say 'sure...come here if you want.' SO- I found a poem I wrote this time last year that just makes me so happy to be in a place that I love, knowing I won't have to go through the college gauntlet ever again. (High school seniors, you're almost there!! The payoff is so worth the hard work!)

12.3.2007.

I will tap dance on the desk of the Dean of Admissions. 

I will tap dance in Morse Code, 

tapping, 'Please accept me!! I hope you love me!!'

And with my arms outstretched, 

and my feet tapping in dots and dashes, 

I will smile, 

I WILL BEAM.

And any sensible person will say

'Who cares if she's not a minority student, 

and that she doesn't have a 4.3 GPA.

That one's a sparkler!'

And I'll jump off the desk and sing you the saddest song you've ever heard.

It might be in a different language,

but you'll still be sad.

...You might even cry.

I COULD MAKE YOU CRY!

(But you'll be grateful and find it cleansing.)

& You'll turn to your pretentious, prestigious colleagues,

seating in chairs of the finest mahogany.

And you'll say 'Well, she's not a varsity captain,

and her AP scores are mediocre at best

but this one--she's convincing.'

And maybe you'll wipe your tears away

and see less than star struck expressions.

...That's when I pull out my secret weapon.

I'll challenge every academic competitor of mine to a duel!

A duel of wit and banter.

And the bookworms will read and cram

and create pneumonic devices to master 'wit'

And the philosophers will muse,

'What is wit?

How does one duel with the intangibility of wit?'

But I'll just sit around and prepare for the duel 

that just might admit me to your school.

And I will annihilate the competition

with my exemplary vocabulary, impish humor, 

devilish way of thinking ironically. 

That's right!

I can trump them with words, interest, charisma. 

But will that do it?

Will that be enough?

Or will I have to master a test that takes five hours to complete?

Will I have to be some athletic prodegy?

Or travel to some far away land just to have experience with 'diversity'?

My eagerness only adds to my vulnerability in this situation.

And although trying to convince myself that the likelihood of success in this situation is something to be laughed at, I still can't help but shake the idea 

the dream

the utopian illusion from my day-dreaming and head-strong mind.