8:20 p.m. - March 05, 2002
eloquent fucks
The second music school rejection has come in, folks. Boulder has officially declined to have me as a composition student.
Any more and I swear I'm majoring in philosophy.
My brain hurts, because I just sat down and read over six months of my diary, straight through, bug-eyed at the computer screen, readreadreadreadreadwonder. I hardly remember the thought processes that were running through my head that made me type what I did. There are some phrases there that I could have sworn did not come from me. They're things I just would not have thought. But, who knows?
If you want content, read the previous entry. I happen to think it's a pretty good vacation description, save the fact that it's not in any sort of chronological order and also that it's interspersed with quotes that, taken out of context, make little or no sense.
That said, fuck: fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, which is my eloquent description of what getting rejected based on what you thought was your best talent feels like.

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