The Minutiae of Life as a Militant Squirrel

Okay, I always feel a bit weird when I'm singing my own praises. Especially since I'm such a crummy singer.

But, look! My fic, Crucibles and Conundrums, been nominated for awards in three different categories at The Candy Store. It's up for Best Crossover, Best Graham, and Best Riley.

Um . . . they haven't updated the site yet to reflect my nominations, but I'm sure that's just a minor glitch that will quickly be rectified. I hope.

I guess that I'm just still pretty insecure about my writing. I'm always surprised, and not a little amazed, when people praise what I've written. And to be nominated for any award, let alone three of them? Well, color me thunderstruck.

Whatever color that may be.

I still have ideas for more stories in that universe. I don't know if they'll ever cooperate and commit to a Word document, though.

Which reminds me . . . back to Medieval CLex.

Yes, the GREs with the math section FROM FUCKING HELL are over.

I pretty much kicked ass on the verbal, but the math? Bent me over the table and made me its bitch. I did a 690 verbal and a 330 math. I'm practically chewing off my fingernails, wondering if I made whatever mystery cutoff number there is at Drexel.

I mean . . . I'm applying to the Library Sciences program. How much math can I possibly need?

So . . . cjandre helped me tear apart the story and figure out what it needed, which is pretty much a whole lot of more work. I am endeavoring to get that work done this week, with the boss out of the office and before the onslaught of returning students. Unfortunately, the muses are not cooperating.

Bitches.

kormanfan did a lovely beta that really helped pump up my ego. ::: blowing kisses ::: And though I haven't responded to you yet, it's not because I wasn't thinking about you! Just that RL got in the way, as it tends to do.

And that LJ hates me sometimes. It's doing that thing again, where I can't see posts on my friendslist -- only if I go to each individual journal.

I expect my journal to begin turning funny colors. Annnnnnnnnny minute now.

Well. Off to poke at Medieval CLex.

::: poking with sticks :::

Okay . . . weirdly, this came to me at about three-thirty this morning. I just woke up, stared at the (dark) ceiling for a few seconds, and boom! Epiphany.

I realized what's holding me back from entering grad school.

I'm afraid.

Not afraid of classes, not afraid of hard work, not afraid of failing to get through the program . . . rather, I'm afraid of not being accepted at all. Being told that I'm not smart enough, accomplished enough, good enough.

I am aware that this is a monumentally stupid fear. I never said it made any sense. I'm just glad that I realized what it was.

Sigh. I miss the days of adolescent egocentrism, when it never even occurred to me that I might not be able to get into the school of my choice, or grab the job that was lucky enough to have me apply for the position, or catch the man that I wanted.

That's the problem with living life and getting older . . . enough little things happen to beat you down, and you start doubting your own strengths. Coupled with my increasingly bad memory and sneaking suspicion that I am losing IQ points on a weekly basis, I've created the makings of a full-fledged phobia.

I suddenly understand the phrase "paralyzed by indecision" a lot better.

So. Now that I've finally identified the problem, I need to overcome it.

How the hell am I going to manage that?