I've been accepted to one school, rejected from Iowa, and put on the waitlist for another, the one that was sort of my first choice.
Oh, Iowa, one day when I am acclaimed you will look back and say, "Wow, look what sensitivepoet has done! Fools that we were, to reject her from our workshop."
I didn't want to go there anyway.
No, really, I would have liked to get in, but it would have been mostly for my ego, to know that Iowa thinks I'm awesome; there were a variety of reasons why I was leaning towards not going there, even if I were accepted.
At least the one school I got into offers a full ride. If I hadn't gotten at least one acceptance I'd be in a far worse mood now.
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While dreaming the other night, I had an idea for a poem. The title, premise, and some line fragments and images. I planned to write it down, of course, but didn't get around to it. Then another morning a couple of days later I remembered that I'd dreamt of a poem, but I couldn't recall any of it. Luckily, maybe assisted by my hypnopompic state, I was able to recall more or less all of it, I think. It will be tricky because I'm not really sure where it's going, but I like it. I like the story it's based on. Not that it's a pleasant story, but it does stick in your head. I remember first reading her name, as a child, when I was searching in a baby names book, for names for a cat. Although the sound of the name wasn't really beautiful to me, I liked the meaning.