I’m still waiting for my letter…

“My letter”
It sounds good, doesn’t it?
It’s my letter!
…that I have yet to receive…
If it’s a rejection it will no longer be “my letter”, it’s much more likely to be named “The rejection” with a huge dried and unknown tear stain with a lot of swear words attached to it.
~Bloody UCAS~
I’m in quite an odd position too…
My friend who I met down at the Oxford interview, yes, “The Oxford interview,” received a rejection letter on Saturday. I still, have heard nothing. My friend from College, who attened “The Oxbridge Trip” renamed “3 day academic piss up” also received a rejection from Balliol this morning.

I hugged him, and he seems ok.
But I’m not…well I am. I’m more afraid of feeling ok and then when I’m rejected, feeling like shit.

It’s turning into a “Billy Elliot” situation.
Every time I roll down my street or see someone in town I hear the words, “Heard anything from Oxford yet?”
I do the sheepish, thankful smile and say, “Not yet.”
But then my heart sinks and floats at the same exact moment in time as they shout “Ahh you’ll get in, they’ll be mad not to have ya’!”
They wouldn’t be mad either way.
I admit and believe that I “bloody well deserve” to get in, but If I don’t, I’m just like the millions of others who’ve read the word “unfortunately” on “that letter” with a desire to punch a hole through their Mum’s coffee table.
They’ve all, well, most have done alright in the end and I know I will. That’s how I work; push me to the edge and I’ll show you what I’m made of.
My Englsih teacher pointed that out the other day when I had my mini mental meltdown in a timed essay. My brain just shut down. Panic set in and the words, “stop pretending to be better than you are” were thumping through to my fringe.
I was tired.
My teacher told me to pull a “sicky” the following day but how could I? I’d miss out on more and then the feeling would get even worse and I would be even more likely to fail!
“Since when was Laura May socially conformed?”
She’s right.
When did that start?
The day I was paralysed.
Fuck that!
Apparently applying to Oxford wellagainst all social conventions that I supposedly fit into (that’s working class, northern and chatty) and it’s made so many people, including myself, proud of my courage to tell and prove to certain teachers that I can do what I want and nothing can stop me.
It’s only sceptics who come up with those stupid social sterotypes anyway…they can all go home!
I’ll stop this worry.
I’ll stop this stupid panic.
And I’ll remember that even If I don’t get to wonderful Wadham, I’ll still have an awesome life.
Because I’m me, and that’s what I do.


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