This blog is an experiment, namely one whose purpose is to find the answer to a burning question that needs to be answered as soon as possible: just how flowery, imagery-slathered, and syntactically confusing can my writing possibly be? Just how much pretension can I cram into any given short narrative?
That, my dear reader(s), is a question that will be answered somewhere within this post as I pontificate upon college essays, the CommonApp, and my dislike of the aforementioned.
To begin, I should say that all of my acquaintances of a similar age seem to be happily ensconced in writing essays of various sorts, as a parasitic worm clinging to the inside of its host’s intestines. Too unkind? I’ll make that a bee in a primrose. The reason for my unkindness has its roots in my appalling predilection for procrastination (half points for ‘appalling,’ perhaps?); I will not do today what I can put off until tomorrow, and since tomorrow will eventually be today this holds true for infinite todays. I learned in my lectures on mathematics that this is called ‘proof by induction.’ I feel incredibly fancy.
To return from my divergence, I hold some degree of enmity toward those who thus complete early their essays and applications. I wish to pretend that I keep abreast of my deadlines, but as one must learn there is always someone a breast-length ahead (this will be much more comforting if you have small breasts). Sadly, in my case that someone is everyone I know. And thus I feel woefully inadequate.
Lamentably, the essays and other supplements are one of the few truly useful parts of the application process! Only through them does information about the student go beyond test scores and superficial (and very general) interests. And yet! Not only have I not written them, but neither do I particularly want to. Is this in part due to my anxieties about being unable to write a good one? Naturally, it is. But you must pretend I did not type that, because I must constantly exude such an air of confidence that I am never challenged to a duel because others assume my prowess is all-encompassing, like a set of irrational numbers.
Suffice it to say that I will get to it tomorrow (for today infinity) and that my hands are begging me with shrill orphan voices to stop typing before they stage a revolution. With that thought, I must say au revoir.