My GOD!

      Literally, My GOD! Because otherwise, I don't know how this happened.
      I sat down to begin the tedious task of wading through the Kenneth Burke bibliography (500+ entries, from the 1930s to 2001) for hints of Composition Theory, and decided to check my email, to gather my Notes to Self. Wherein I was greeted with this:
Hi, Amy! I'm sorry I missed you by telephone this morning. If you'd like to chat personally, please let me know what times of day are best for you, and
I'll call you. (If you'd prefer to try me, my office number is (847-491-5854.)
Here in the Department of Communication Studies, we are in the process of making admissions decisions. We wanted to let you know that you are on our short list of preferred applicants. Although at this moment we cannot offer you either admission or financial support, your application is one of a small number (fewer than ten) that we have forwarded to the School of Communication for further competitive review. Although we hope to be able to make you an offer, it is likely that not all the applications that we have put forward will be funded.
We wanted to contact you now to congratulate you on your success thus far and to tell you that we are very much interested in you and your application! We hope to be able to give you a definitive answer about admission by mid-March. In the interim, we want you to feel free to contact us with any questions that you may have about the program or about our admissions procedures. We hope that this information will be helpful to you as you receive offers from other schools.

      Pardon?

     First of all, as mother said, I no longer have to worry about living in my parent's basement, which is a strange concept since we have no basement. Upon reading the email seven or eight times to make sure I wasn't stupid, I squealed, and began announcing it to everyone in earshot. Shaking. Dry lips. Etc.


      I practically hopped into Professor Rotella's office, who seemed genuinely excited for me, who kept telling me what good signs were hidden in the rhetorically charged "almost acceptance" letter. At the moment I am sitting calmly in the computer lab, hair in a pony tail, looking demure. Mother and others tempered my excitement when they mentioned the fact that this is the first of what may be many offers. Then I remembered: I may have to make a decision in the end.


      Damn.
      I suppose I should say something here about being lucky. About being lucky to have the pressure of making this kind of decision. I suppose I could say this is justification for all those times I thought the Clemons family was looking down on me, for them making me feel stupid and inadequate. Maybe. Maybe I should celebrate tonight.


      If I were at home, I'd go out with K-dog and Lou. We'd drink coffee and eat cheesecake. Now, I'm just here, with me and the roommates. I don't know what to do. Mom's in Hawaii. Dad's got the flu. Emma started work today, and Kari's grandpa just died.
      Give me some damn cheesecake.