Senior Angst

Hello everyone,
I know I havn't posted in a little while- sorry. I have gotten notices (e-mails, text messages, and voicemails) about my slow writing, but there is nothing I can say other then- I try to produce the best blogg every time and it takes a while for me to make the creative juices turn. Now to buissness:
College applications were due yesterday and I sent in my number one. It was so sureal to send it in. Now my future at my number one school is up to the admissions council- in other words, it is completely out of my hands and there is nothing more I can do to help myself. For everyone's entertainment here is my essay that I sent in with my application:

Dear Diary, October 13, 2007
This morning is unbelievable. My roommate, Danielle, decided that she is going to make breakfast for me. She is even ordering a mail order butler! Sitting up in my queen sized, four poster bed, I took the silver tray containing my scrambled egg, 3 bacon strips, steaming bowl of grits, and warm glass of English breakfast tea, from my mail order, Herbert. Herbert is dressed in a tux, with tails, and a vest. I get out of bed after finishing my breakfast and put on my usual apparel: jeans and a tee-shirt. Shockingly as I am glancing in the mirror, I realize I am wearing Danielle's jeans- and she is a size 4! Somehow magically in the night I had dropped 25 pounds. I had dropped the freshmen 25 before I even gained it. Who knew that college could be so rewarding? Standing outside my dorm is Albert, my driver, with a golf cart, ready to drive me to my first class of the day. I am arriving at my first class, World History 101, 10 minutes ahead of time so I can get a seat that is appropriately discreet--not right in front of the lectern stand. This is the only class I am dreading. I am frightened because I think that all expected one hundred students will be inspired, loud history fanatics, just like the old boring teacher will be. Stepping into the conference room, I am flabbergasted. There are only 5students and my teacher, a handsome, young, and recent art history graduate from Oxford University, and happened to be one of the most beautiful people ever (plus he is British!). He looks like the love child of Ewan McGreggor and Scarletta Johansen: beautiful blonde hair, the body of a dancer, and the eyes of Elijah Wood. I am stopped in my tracks, and have to remind myself that my mouth is not a gaping hole and that everyone probably does not want to see it. This is going to be a great day.
Dear Diary, October 13, 2007
I wake up to the aroma of body odor, and foot scum- The socks and dirty tee-shirt my room-mate, Danielle, who preferred to be called Danny, had thrown off and put right next to my head the night before, are covering the abrasive neon readout on my blinking alarm clock. The only thing I want to do to the screaming alarm clock is ram it against the wall and make it stop shouting. I move to grab it, and catching a small glimpse of the time, I realize I have, by luck, woken up 7 minutes before my first class. I struggle to sit up in my single bed with the missing springs that had sunk so low I might as well have slept on the floor, and find that breakfast would be no more than a Slim Fast Optima (at least it was chocolate) and a three day old banana, that is trapped under Danny's laundry basket- yum. So I struggle into my sweat pants, tee- shirt, and sweat shirt. I run down the four flights of stairs and get onto the front steps of my dorm. The sun is beating down hard, so I try to take my sweat shirt off. As I pull the wrinkled, poly-blend mess over my head I hear from the depths of cloth, whooping, and cat calls. I don’t understand why until my struggle with the sweat shirt is finally over, and I realize that my sweatshirt had taken my shirt captive, and I am standing in the middle of the boulevard with nothing more than my black bra, and sweat pants on. Much to the amusement of everyone in the quad and on the ground, my bare stomach is exposed to the campus, forever to be posted on the cell phone memories, and digital camera cards. Unfortunately when I get to my class tired, disgruntled, embarrassed, and five minutes late, I have to take the seat located three feet from the teacher's lectern. So I take the walk of shame down the auditorium steps, followed by cheers and claps of those who have seen my magnificent performance that morning on the boulevard. I even hear a, 'Nice bod," which I return with a cold look, but am secretly pleased. My teacher is older than the first Guttenberg Bible and smells of moldy cheese and moth balls. I pull out my lap top to start taking notes on what I think is the French and Indian War, but ends up being the Spanish American War, when I realized I have left my power cord in my dorm room and after 16 minutes of feverish note taking, I am forced into an existence of writer's cramp and pen refills. When the final minutes of class approached, I have to approach the teacher and explain my reasons for being late. This is going to be a very, very bad day. “I want my mommy.”

Ultimately my future is unknown to anyone. I have hopes and dreams of what it could be, and fears of what it might fail to become, but there is no way of knowing what my life will be. My hopes and aspirations are what carry me through the days. The tribulations and trophies are what shape my present and future. Even though these two situations may never come true (and that might be a blessing on both ends) I am simply a girl full of hopes and good intentions. I can neither be a princess nor a fool, but only myself- the best me I can be.

I know it is long but I thought you would enjoy it. I thought it was fun.
Halloween was a blast. I got to hang out with my mom while answering the door and we got to catch up. She just got home from Italy and we havn't really caught up. It was so much fun to talk with her. Ultimately this week has been pretty good. Other then the play everything has been going well. I am really woried about the performance next week. I am afraid it is not ready and will crash and burn. I know it wont but the end is not nearly as flowing as the begining. I hope that the pace will pick up at some point. Oh goodness- I hope it starts to form better at the end. Oh well. See you then.

The Short Version:
-Sorry about the slow post
-My college essay
-Talking with my mom
-Worry about the show
-By the way- I don't have a date... still