lareinenoire: (Bitch)
Dear weather,

It's June. And I have the heat on. Something is very wrong with this picture.

No love,


Nov. 13th, 2006 04:29 pm
lareinenoire: (Default)
Still not better. Voice sounds slightly better, but is now interspersed with violent coughing fits. I'm not very fun to be around right now, but unfortunately the computer is still incommunicada, which leaves me no recourse but the library. Where there are other people constantly distracted by aforementioned coughing fits. I feel horrible about it, which makes me try to stifle the coughing, which makes it worse, get the picture.

At least today's Chronicle of Choice was short and to the point. Well, one of them was. I actually managed to transcribe all relevant bits by hand in a reasonable amount of time. The other one, I've asked the lovely people at the counter to keep in hopes that my computer will magically reappear in the next five days. I know there was a time when everyone transcribed by hand, and that I have no right to complain...but I intend to complain anyway.

::deep breath::

It takes too long. And it hurts my hand, which has developed this inexplicable cramp between the thumb and forefinger. Plus, if I get distracted, my handwriting becomes practically illegible, which is not helpful in the least.

I did finally finish Charles Ross's biography of Richard III. He seems to espouse the 'he really was no better and no worse than any other person around him' theory. Which is fine with me; I'm actually finding that to be my theory of choice these days. He just seems content to set out the information and let the reader decide what they think. Plus, he points out the foibles of both sides of the Ricardian debate equally, and he's actually very nice to P.M. Kendall. Of course, this is pre-Weir, so I have no idea what he'd think of her.

One of my stack requests got cancelled, much to my annoyance. It happened to be the article about Pope Pius II who decided on a whim to compare Marguerite of Anjou to Joan of Arc, and I was really looking forward to that, simply because it's an odd notion and moderately amusing. Supposedly, the Upper Camera Reserve has it, and I might try to make it there after stopping by the English Library to pick up copies of Shakespeare's various Henry VI plays.

I'm trying to decide if I want to go to a lecture tonight. It sounds interesting (19th Century Literature and the Bible), but I'm tired. And I've run out of sugar, which is something of a calamity in my world. At any rate, I've got half an hour to decide, so we'll see.
lareinenoire: (Default)
I hate personal statements.

Most people are probably well aware of how much I hate them. For those who aren't, this is fiery-passion-of-a-thousand-suns-and-then-some hatred.

I *cannot* write them.

And I have to. Within the next two days. So I can hand it in for the Gates Fellowship, which has to be the absolute *best* grant I could possibly get for next year. I suppose there had to be soul-selling or some vague equivalent involved, as it's Bill Gates.

But personal statements? That's at least the Seventh Circle of Hell as far as I'm concerned.

I'm almost entirely convinced that one of the main reasons I managed to get into programmes here at Cambridge is the fact that none of the applications required a bloody personal statement. It was all about my research. I can talk about my research, no problems there.

However, ask me to sell myself and we have a problem. I look shitty on paper. I just do. I'm just not the sparkly Student Council President type of person. I'm obsessive cross-reference girl. I'm both willing to and capable of spending hours transcribing fifteenth-century letters in order to dredge up every last possible reference to Richard III. Useful? Marginally. Sparkly? Hells no.

I'm patient with books. Not with people.


Right. Still not intoxicated enough to even spill out the dregs of a personal statement. All I need is something on paper. I can revise when sober. I just can't write this particular sort of thing.

More alcohol. Yes. Let there be Bénédictine. Happy orange tipsiness with a vengeance. And then maybe I can sell myself.

Academic prostitution. Such a painful process.
lareinenoire: (Default)
I hate applications. Every last one of them. Schools, jobs, money...whatever. Especially when people don't tell you the deadlines until FIVE DAYS BEFORE.

I checked my e-mail yesterday to find out that, if I wanted to apply for two of the scholarships I'd planned on applying for, I needed drafts of a personal statement, a proposed academic programme for the first two years of my graduate study, a list of extracurriculars that reads like a course catalogue, and eight recommendations.


As of now, I don't even have one. I could probably sneak two out of my advisors in the English department, just because they know me well enough. But in five--no, wait, now it's four--days? Yeah fucking right. That only makes me look like a complete moron for not knowing this beforehand. So I probably will have to drop out of said scholarship competition.

Not that I expected to win, really. It's only the Rhodes and the Marshall. Heh.

Oh, and I hate writing personal statements. [ profile] wsykes heard this rant yesterday. It always feels false; I've only written one, perhaps two at most, that felt even remotely like "me." Everything else is my trying to sound better than I actually am, which is what one is supposed to do on a personal statment. All bluster and fancy language and no substance. Which really really bugs the hell out of me. I'd prefer my entire future to be decided by something more...substantial, perhaps?

And my list of extracurriculars and awards is...a great deal less impressive than the other applicants. I was effectively told that in the e-mail I got today. Well, it's me. I'm not impressive. I suppose it's my fault for not trying to be.


I •want• to go to graduate school. I actually happen to like classes, and I hope to teach someday. I'm just sick of pretending to be someone else on an application form. I tried it for my undergrad and got so fed up that I completely screwed up my not-too-slim chance of getting a full ride at OSU.

At the moment, I have no safe school, except perhaps one of the universities in England--which, in and of itself, is not particularly safe because of the whole "out of country" aspect. I suppose I could put down OSU, but I've been in Columbus for fifteen years and I would much rather leave.

I could also do what Pix is doing and take a year off to work. I'm just terrified I'd get stuck in a job that I hated, but that made me enough money to scrape by, and never make it back to school. Then I'd have a bachelor's degree in three already-termed "useless" subjects and nothing else. It's the "would you like fries with that?" scenario.

I'm still applying to at least six schools, regardless of money. I suppose I'll just have to beg them for money later. Or sell my soul or something. Not sure how much that'd fetch on the black market. Though I could still write trashy romance novels under a pen name...

I had hoped for some semblance of downtime before classes started. Quelle horreur.


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