Tired. Legs hurt. Bouncing.
Yesterday we got caught with the backlash of the campus-wide virus warning–I did more scrambling between computers, but all five of the calls I answered (from frosh girls: predictable but disappointing) were false alarms. I think they just wanted to be part of something exciting. I think that’s nice. I suggest rock diving.
Whenever I wasn’t doing that, I was standing over grad schools with a bat. First, I tried to get this… woman at U of L to walk ten feet and pick up the last piece of my application. She says it only takes about a day to decide once the application is complete, and the transcript is definitely the last piece, and I have yet to hear anything either way. Why? Because “the fax machine is acting funny.”
Second, I finally called UK to inform them that yes, my GRE scores were forwarded in January, as I told them in February, and would they mind taking a look? Oh, says Mister Admissions, the “electronic version didn’t upload right,” but now that I’ve informed them the scores are there, they should be fine. Meanwhile, since it’s April, there are no assistantships left. I’m pondering litigation, or (more satisfying, less expensive) actual use of the hypothetical bat. (You know. Like hitting them with it.)
One of my drafted-but-unused journal entries was about my bemusement at the sheer rarity of competency on this campus, and the apparently unusual fact that all of my friends are competent, useful human beings–in fact, that most of them are experts in some way. I was going to wonder if such a disparity existed outside the Centre bubble. If the people I’ve dealt with this week are any indication, I feel no need to wonder anymore.