Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always wanted to go to U of T.
I mean, just look at it, and this is in the heart of downtown Toronto!
It’s gigantic. Huge. With every club for every interest you could possibly ever dream up on your wildest nights.
Then, a week before applying for post-secondary school, I got this brilliant idea in my head that I should go be a nurse. I can’t even remember what it was, I had never even considered the career option before the middle of grade 12. Actually, I think it was all the stories I kept hearing of graduates with degrees in humanities winding up working at Pizza Pizza. Or, even worse, Rogers.
Nursing, infinitely harder to get into than humanities, had me wind up at a school I absolutely hated in a place I hated. (East Scarborough? Ew, it’s like almost Pickering.)
Now I have a choice. Technically, I am still a student of another university that’s pretty cool…I think. A school that doesn’t carry the name of U of T, but also has no snootiness or competitiveness like U of T.
Most of the buildings were built mid-century and not beautiful and ivy-covered (I’m not even kidding when I listed that to my guidance counsellor as a main reason to pick a school.) But…it’s got this thing!
Now I somehow have to force myself to call to see if I can transfer into another program. What if they say no? U of T is, on average, harder to get into than this school. Shit.
…and then there’s uOttawa…5 and a half hours away…
…where I will have an infinitely better chance of being successful at my dream to become fluent in French.
I’ll give it until October 15 before I start phoning universities to get info.
October 15th. Just 24 more days of hiding from reality.
Oh god…and then I will have to start applying…again.
(Please refer to the cartoon girl at the head of this page to illustrate the feelings that follow.)