That is the first lesson that ought to be learned
Gosh, I am lacking in the prompt-updating department. Whoops. I am a little amazed that my last twenty entries span all the way back to July. What have I been doing, that I update so little?
I have no idea. Reading, writing, applying to college, perhaps? Perhaps.
Severely provisionally, obviously. Unlikely to be all that successful. And not in any order.
Macalester (Minnesota, USA)
Carleton (Minnesota, USA)
Smith (Massachusetts, USA)
Sarah Lawrence (New York, USA)
Columbia (New York, USA)
Trinity College (Dublin, IRE)
University of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, UK)
LALA, I cannot hear any doubts! I am certainly lovely and sparkly, and all sorts of good. Now, to convince the schools that I should get in...This could prove to be challenging, and not of the fun kind. More of the "giant gnashing teeth which suck like hot tar" way.
My descriptive talents win. Indeed, here is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to my college adviser, (and yes, I do go to a ritzy school, except that she's pretty cool and very helpful):
Interesting things what I have done with my mind:
Despite a high school student’s copious free-time,
I have performed everything but dying and mime.
Although not all of this is strictly authorized,
Or even part of a certain curricula, fitted with supplies.
From limericks of a decidedly dirty kind,
To prose and even poems without rhyme,
All the time allotted to me by authorities
Both temporal (my administration) and divine,
The time has bent spent, and no hopes went.
The nine line near- Petrarchan sonnet above touches on a few aspects of myself which I would like to further elucidate. Notably, I am still alive. I only mention this to scan correctly, but really, how sure can one be that all admitted students are actually alive and conscious?
On a more studious note, I’d like to point out a few of my accomplishments. In addition to various purely academic applications, I’ve attempted to continue various independent projects outside of school. Some might say that these are simply a waste of time, and could be better spent playing sports or learning a second language, like Sanskrit. I rejoin: clearly, any doubters have not seen my hand-eye coordination, and also, seemingly live in an alternate universe where due to a variety of complex cross-cultural factors, Sanskrit has supplanted Latin as the language which everyone ought to know, but most do not, beyond a passing familiarity with a few hackneyed phrases.
To return to topic, my activities, of a decidedly intellectual bent, tend towards the creative. I compose, and occasionally publish, prose, poetry, and a heap of work for which the honour of such a lofty category is far too flattering. I have become passionate about literary criticism in the last several years, which I attribute to having read widely, and finally having been exhausted by the number of simply wretched books.
Several individuals of my acquaintance have suggested that I apply myself to more fitting pursuits. However, an equal number support my defiant rebuttal: “I amb what I amb.”
Well, it's passingly amusing. And you can see a truly awful attempt at rhyme. My brain is where good poems go to die!
Must get cracking on a great many things. Still do not have a computer of my own. Do, however, have tomorrow off. Swell!
I have no idea. Reading, writing, applying to college, perhaps? Perhaps.
Severely provisionally, obviously. Unlikely to be all that successful. And not in any order.
Macalester (Minnesota, USA)
Carleton (Minnesota, USA)
Smith (Massachusetts, USA)
Sarah Lawrence (New York, USA)
Columbia (New York, USA)
Trinity College (Dublin, IRE)
University of Edinburgh (Edinburgh, UK)
LALA, I cannot hear any doubts! I am certainly lovely and sparkly, and all sorts of good. Now, to convince the schools that I should get in...This could prove to be challenging, and not of the fun kind. More of the "giant gnashing teeth which suck like hot tar" way.
My descriptive talents win. Indeed, here is an excerpt from a letter I wrote to my college adviser, (and yes, I do go to a ritzy school, except that she's pretty cool and very helpful):
Interesting things what I have done with my mind:
Despite a high school student’s copious free-time,
I have performed everything but dying and mime.
Although not all of this is strictly authorized,
Or even part of a certain curricula, fitted with supplies.
From limericks of a decidedly dirty kind,
To prose and even poems without rhyme,
All the time allotted to me by authorities
Both temporal (my administration) and divine,
The time has bent spent, and no hopes went.
The nine line near- Petrarchan sonnet above touches on a few aspects of myself which I would like to further elucidate. Notably, I am still alive. I only mention this to scan correctly, but really, how sure can one be that all admitted students are actually alive and conscious?
On a more studious note, I’d like to point out a few of my accomplishments. In addition to various purely academic applications, I’ve attempted to continue various independent projects outside of school. Some might say that these are simply a waste of time, and could be better spent playing sports or learning a second language, like Sanskrit. I rejoin: clearly, any doubters have not seen my hand-eye coordination, and also, seemingly live in an alternate universe where due to a variety of complex cross-cultural factors, Sanskrit has supplanted Latin as the language which everyone ought to know, but most do not, beyond a passing familiarity with a few hackneyed phrases.
To return to topic, my activities, of a decidedly intellectual bent, tend towards the creative. I compose, and occasionally publish, prose, poetry, and a heap of work for which the honour of such a lofty category is far too flattering. I have become passionate about literary criticism in the last several years, which I attribute to having read widely, and finally having been exhausted by the number of simply wretched books.
Several individuals of my acquaintance have suggested that I apply myself to more fitting pursuits. However, an equal number support my defiant rebuttal: “I amb what I amb.”
Well, it's passingly amusing. And you can see a truly awful attempt at rhyme. My brain is where good poems go to die!
Must get cracking on a great many things. Still do not have a computer of my own. Do, however, have tomorrow off. Swell!