but they might be...

Every day it was the same damn story, it seemed. I postponed errands, meetings, work, life until later in the day so that I could be at home for the metal screeeech, scrape, vah-whummmp of our mail carrier's calling card. Is it there? Should I check? I'm pathetic if I go running down the stairs and filter through the booty this instant. I'll just wait. What if it is there? Am I in? Probably not...it's pretty competetive and everyone wants to be a librarian these days. But what if I am in? Who should I tell first?

This went on for what felt like an eternity. No news is good news, I tried to rationalize. After exactly two months of this odd form of torture, the University of Washington chose to let me in on their decision. As much as I was hoping for an acceptance letter, at this point any envelope with a purple logo as a return address would suffice. On this fateful day, I went through the ritual psychotic inner dialogue attempting to prepare myself for either outcome as I almost went to collect the mail two or three times before I actually had the goods in my hot little hands. When I'd finally convinced myself that I could adequately accept either outcome, I began to flip through the envelopes as I, finally, spy one the with the UW return address and it's THIN. And this is where you are entitled to a disclaimer: I'd always thought that when one is accepted, one is rewarded with the thick package with all the info you need and don't need and when one is rejected, they stuff that slap across the face into a thin envelope.

I was so mad (no, I hadn't opened it yet) that I threw that purple logoed envelope on the ground and started swearing and stomping on it.
"Take that!" my angry stomping feet seemed to say.
After about five minutes of this very adult-like response to an unopened envelope, I decided I should probably open it and "see what they had to say for themselves." I had to read the "we are pleased to inform you" part about five times before I even considered believing it.