Waiting

I drove home last night from my parents writing an imaginary letter to the guy in Boston who is deciding our fate. Ed spend last weekend writing an essay about teaching and sent it off to the person who is filling the last few available fellowship spots at BU. If Ed does get the fellowship, he gets a chunck of change subtracted from his tuition, thus allowing him to afford the school. He would basically be a TA for some education courses (I think) - and be working about 20 hours a week in the education department, where, I'm hoping, he'll learn to transfer what he liked about teaching into his (sports) counseling pscyhology program. If he doesn't get the fellowship, it is on to plan B.

My mom asked me what plan B is. Plan B became my imaginary letter to Mr. Jump through these hoops man. (We've heard many versions of "you'll get the fellowship" or "there's scholarships- you'll see" or "no problem," but are now wondering the validity of such assurances). I want to write him and remind him that we are essentially waiting to hear in order to secure a place to live, movers, and for me to clinch a job (yeah, waiting to start a new life- no big deal). Most of this would probably involve another trip to Boston, an expensive trip that I'd just assume make when we know for sure that we can afford the school. And though we are waiting quietly, we are waiting desperately--pretty much trying not to think that our fate rests on this one decision. But, it does. I think that's why I get so frustrated- sometimes these academic folk forget (or relish) how much power they hold over others' lives. And, the unspoken rule is that everyday, emotional life holds little sway in acadamia. That kind of pathos is frowned upon. Damn ivory tower.

Anyway, Ed's in Las Vegas with some friends, working hard to not think about all of this (what a distraction!) and I'm here in Seattle trying to hang out with my family as much as possible. Oh, and catch up on those essays that need grading (compassionately).

-Laura