I sat on the floor in my study tonight, printing the Sample Residency packet that Goddard emailed me. It was 31 pages long.
White sheets of paper shot out from my printer, one after another, and I rushed to get them in order as though they weren’t numbered. On page 17, I held out my hand just to see if I could catch one. And I did. Then another. And then I wagered, like this: If I catch the next sheet that flies out of my printer, I will get into all three programs. The paper hit the flesh between my thumb and forefinger, slice first, then bounced off, landing on the floor a foot away. So close.
Earlier today, I jumped over a puddle to my mailbox. There was a stack of mail in it. Aha! I love mail.
Federal holidays make me sad.
I will never stop ordering magazines.
Here’s what was inside: The Red Plum junk mail insert, The New Yorker begging me to renew, Poets & Writers (excitement), National Grid (bummer), and then, a nice big envelope from Bennington College (!!).
I tore it open as soon as I could. Could they have already decided? No. I know better. They couldn’t have. They hadn’t.
So far, we have received everything for your application except one of your recommendation letters. Oh, and here’s this, a blue pamphlet with more information about our program, a moody gray-blue paper folded in half that matches the picture on our website. In the picture, there’s a banker’s lamp on the desk, and open books, glasses (which I should wear, but don’t–a sign?), a plant.
I’m looking at the pamphlet again, right now.
“Read one hundred books. Write one,” it reads.
I want to sit there. But I don’t see a chair. Plus the desk in the picture is messy, and I want to clean it.
This beautiful pamphlet is just a whiff of good cologne. Tease.
Next time I see the Bennington logo on an envelope it will hold the news I’m waiting for.