Hey guys, guess what? I figured out that I can, indeed, write today. I scored a "5" on my GRE analytical writing portion for admittance to Northwestern, and I'm pleasantly boiling "brag." ["6" is the highest score...how many people do you know write perfectly?] I will not, however, under any circumstances, disclose my verbal and math scores. Moreover, I am not going to school for geometry, elementary algebra, and analogies. I am going to the gorgeous, 20th century-esque Northwestern U to explore the wonderful world of celebrity/hobby/current events journalism. And how to construct periodicals. And how to take my long-winded writing style and cramp it into one, straight-to-the-point formula for reading pleasure.
It will be my own little fantastic "Mea in the City" epic-sode: hair glamourously blowing in the breeze off Lake Michigan as I sit on the beach and write; getting paired with a group of women where we all mesh and produce the greatest ideas for our magazine known to Man; making new friends and going out to poetry readings and to Applebees for drinks; having my man there for me to bounce ideas to at all hours of the night...
Even my fantasy needs to be broken here: My rational side is too rational [and sometimes too ghetto] to think that Northwestern isn't going to be all hard work and rare play. In October, the 5 below 0 wind will whip off Lake Michigan at 20 mph to permanently frostbite my forever sad, stressed face. [And I'll be starting in the winter quarter. Winter up north...] I will wear the most enormous amount of layers known to Man. I will argue with that one dude in our group who will try to oppress me because I'm a black woman. My Johnny may not even be with me. And making time for friends, let alone time to talk to my man, will be scarce and precious.
Talk about the real world. But we'll see...
Now, all I gotta do is get into the school.
[short whisper] Pray!
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