For the Future

So! Hey! I got into UCL!

Yes, that's right. Graduate school. In London. Me. Graduate school. It seems I'm still processing that information, no? I'm also waiting to hear back from Oxford, which is undoubtedly my first choice. (Just so you know, UCL would be a one-year taught MA programme in European History, while Oxford would be a two-year research MPhil programme is Modern British and European History. Better. Plus, in Oxford, so DOUBLE BETTER.)

I was very excited when I received the letter from UCL, as might be expected, since I don't think I really believed I would be accepted anywhere. Of course Daddy Dearest manage to take all the joy out of the experience. He and I don't talk -- like, at all -- so I thought it would be a nice gesture for me to share my good news with him. After a half-hearted "Congratulations," his first words were "How much is this going to cost?" and "What are you going to do to get this money?" Yes, these practical questions are important, but do they need to be the first thing he says to me? Can't he just let me enjoy the moment? Besides, I'm not asking my parents for any money on this -- I'm saving up money to spend and taking out loans for tuition and expenses if I don't get any scholarships. But as daddies do, he motherfucking killed the joybuzz.

In any case, if I get into Oxford, I won't let him do that. This might sound petty, but I just won't tell him I got in. There's actually no reason for him to know, since he's not involved in my life, I won't be asking him for money for school, and he'll never visit me. And this way I won't give him the satisfaction of taking away my joy and I won't have to give any of it up.

Whew. That does all sound a bit overly-emotional and childish, but considering our "relationship," I think it's pretty much par for the course. I don't know why I'm all upset about it really.

In any case: GRADUATE SCHOOL. ME.