Waiting on college admissions letters

Like many students today, these last few months have been the longest, most drawn-out months of my life. The stretch of time from mid-December through early April is an agonizingly long waiting period of counting down day after day after day.

Why? Because I applied as a transfer student to some very selective colleges, and am waiting for the decision letters to come back.

Seriously, I’ve gotten pretty obsessive about. Here’s my reasoning: If I open the mailbox and there is a thick packet from a college, I’ll know that I got in. If it is a slim envelope, it’s a rejection letter.

I can’t take the waiting anymore! I’ve been going on interviews with some of the college admissions officers during the mean time. Talk about nerve racking. They ask you the most vague questions EVER.

The first interview that I had was like something out of nightmare. This admissions officer, from an Ivy-league school whose name I won’t mention, literally sat me down and asked me: "So, tell me about yourself." I’m like, "seriously?" No, I didn’t really say that.

The interviews all went great, though the whole time I was sitting there wondering if the café really had a temperature of like 150 degrees, or was it just me? And why was everybody chanting "admissions, admissions," under their breath at me?

Firstly, let me say that I thought that the college admission process was so complicated and time-consuming. All of my counselors went on freaking vacation around the deadline time, my printer broke like five times, and I paid like fifty bucks in postage.

I even chased down a few mail men once or twice in my car like a lunatic just to get forms in the mail on deadline.

Seriously, what did you guys do to pass the time? Even with 18 hours a week of college, homework, and a part time job, it still seems like I’ve got way too much time to sit around and watch for the mail man’s blue and white fate-mobile pulling up outside of my house.

I know the very minute that the mail man comes every day. 11:31 A.M.: the longest minute of my life. Imagine me creeping out of my house, nerves trembling, tense with expectation.

The sidewalk between my front door and the mail box might as well be the freaking Daytona 500. I’m at the mail box in two seconds flat.

Glaring around at any neighbors or wildlife that might be watching me in my most fragile moment, I grip the handle of the mail box as if it were burning hot. The mail box door seems to take hours as it squeals down its hinges and hangs, wide open—a mouth that could be either laughing cruelly at me, or cheering me on. I was about to find out.

Steadying myself, I peer, one eye shut, into the galaxy of my mailbox. A few envelopes, seated coyly with return addresses obscured, wink at me seductively from the dark metal interior like beauty queens trying to impress pageant judges.

"Four years," I think. "This is where I’ll be spending the next four years."

I grab the stack of mail out of the box at last. Papers fly.

Oh shit. Nothing. Not a freaking thing. Junk mail, junk mail, bills, bills, letter, flyer, advertisement, bank notice, newsletter, postcard, bills.

And so it goes. Day after day after day.

Any advice? I’m sure SOMEONE out there has been through this too. What did you do to pass the time? I’m exaggerating and kidding about some of it—I’m not really THAT nervous about it.

But seriously, why do they have to make us wait like freaking five months? And mail men out there—watch out for rogue students on the prowl to mob you of your admission letters.

Any advice?