David came to visit us for Thanksgiving from the great city of Chicago. We had fun and hope he did too. I finally tried adding stuffing to my turkey sandwich and I really liked it, David.
I had the urge today to knock out my Statement of Purpose for the Writer's Workshop. If Cole Swensen hadn't told me to, I wouldn't be doing it...AT ALL. In fact, the main reason I didn't want to do it is the problem I am running into now: the bile is rising so high in my throat and I just want to spit it right out at them, but I know that I can't. What's the point, anyways? I can be nice and they can still say no, or I can tell them what I really think, be rejected anyways, and at least have the satisfaction of knowing that I said what I wanted to say. I'm so petty and bitter, I'm nearly shaking and have been for two years.
But I can't, and I won't. I talk about applying now for the third time and what I've learned in my two years of having gone through this process. As readers of this blog are sure to know (or find out, courtesy for our way back machine), I've gone through Hell in this process and I have no doubt it will be the same for this third application.
David and I went out Friday night, mostly to give Jennifer time to do her work, but also to let us old friends talk about the things we could only really talk about with one another. He talked about his recent breakup with his girlfriend Sam, and I talked about grad school and my constant rejection from it. I feel guilty for allowing this to be so controlling, I told him, to which he responded, "It's more than that (getting into school): it's about what you want to do with your life and you feel like you can't do it." Bhramyagdahn (Eureka)! I think he may have hit it there.
But what to do. No matter what I do, I think I'll be rejected by the workshop again and probably by the English PhD program. I might simply be a loser, I know, but for some reason, I think I'm not bad. Now, I don't want to be one of those Foetry losers who think they are owed something simply because they slap down an entrance fee or because they think they are entitled to something because their poems are "AWESOME!" No, I'm more than that, right? I've been published a little. I'm maturing. I'm starting to do things with poetry that are unique, right?
Wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. But what's right, I don't know. Regardless, I'm not getting in and I don't think I will, at least at this program, which is fine, because, as I said, I want to make sure I get enough done while here so that when Jennifer is done and we're ready to leave, any other MFA program will have me.
Right now, I'm thinking a lot about St. Mary's in California, mainly because Graham Foust is there. There were two books out when he came to Georgia looking for work and I read them both. I never told him, but I think I've reread Leave the Room to Itself maybe a dozen times now. I think that if I could do half of what he's doing, I'd be happy. I personally think he might be the best out there, and he's only just begun.
Still stuck on Berryman. What am I going to fucking do with everything?