Waiting is one of the hardest things a person has to do, and there is no shortage of it even at art school.
Every spring semester everyone is applying for internships, normally due in February and some will start getting back to you as late as early April. That’s a bit over a month where you are just waiting.
When applying for Graduate School it is even worse. You fill out the applications as early as November, maybe December, then…..wait for 4+ months.
Some letters come in February when everyone else starts stressing out over applying for internships and jobs. Them March comes and more letters arrive, but they are all saying no.
Then suddenly its April. You are waiting on 2 more schools to get back to you, your last chances. Everyone around you is getting interviews, job offers, school is ending in a month, people keep asking what your going to do, you start crossing campus every day to look for a letter but start to think that you will have no options.
Then it happens.
An email, one week before graduate schools make their accepted students chose where they are going.
Breath.
You have to still open it.
“Congratulations on your acceptance to Pratt Institute for the fall 2015 semester!”
Breath.
Finally.
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| How I felt once I read the email. |
So there it is, an acceptance to a masters program that I actually really wanted. No more wondering what was going to happen, no more dodging people and their questions, no more waiting.
True, I’m still waiting to hear back from UCLA but my chances of getting in there was slim to begin with. If by some miracle I get in I don’t know what I’ll do.
Other news isn’t too great though.
Not half an hour after hearing I got into a school I learn that our dog, Nikolai, had just died. I knew it was coming for years now. He had problems walking, couldn’t see or hear well, and was issues controlling his bladder at night. Every time I left home I would ask him to not go when I was away, guess he couldn’t hold on another month.
Still, 14 years for a Siberian Husky is a long time.
Good-bye Mr. Nick, our old man, keep Papa Tom company upstairs.
