Mayakovsky

It's early morning on a Saturday, and once again I find myself sitting in bed, in the dark, with the candle burning. I'm thinking. Thinking about someone, thinking about something, thinking about people and places I miss, thinking about places I want to see: thoughts are running free. I have so much coursing through my brain sometimes, I forget to breath. I sit in the dark and let them go. So let me grab my fishing poll and try to catch one...

I have started to tell people at work that I went to Harvard. I applied as a joke in my Senior year of high school, just to see if I could get in, and I did. I think it was because of my personal essay. The topic given had been "Who are you?" Not at all broad or daunting, but seeing as I wasn't even interested in Harvard, I let loose. I think at one point I even likened myself to the great Malcolm X, and definitely sprinkled a couple "F" bombs in for flavor. I was proud of the six pages I sent them and can recall dropping it in the mailbox with a light heart. 

Suffice it to say, I wasn't really that surprised when the Dean of Admissions called me personally on a Saturday, to offer me an early admission. I thanked Bart, but told him I would have to think about it. I was not all to interested in going to school back East. I had already been accepted to Parson's in New York and declined, and so I really wasn't considering Massachusetts. 

I had a dream that night though. I was in a room, surrounded by gold statues of myself, all from different periods in my life. There was my infant self, my toddler self, my child self, my teenager self, my college self, my adult self, my middle age self, etc. I walked around the room and looked at each statue. As I stood in front of my college self I noticed an "H" on the lapel of the corduroy blazer my statue was rocking. As I reached out to touch the "H" my phone began to ring, it was the Dean calling to see if I had made a decision.

So yeah, it wasn't that hard getting into Harvard, I am not too sure what everyone is always talking about. I didn't make a 3.0 all of high school, never played any sports, lied about my community service hours, wasn't a part of yearbook, and never belonged to any clubs. But they loved me. I don't know if it was the fact that I had no real academic right to be there, that I hadn't put nearly as much effort into getting in as the others, but I can safely say, Harvard welcomed me with open arms, and open hearts.

I started out as a U.S. history major, I adored U.S. history in high school. America's power was established in lies, and I wanted to learn the truth. Unfortunately, it didn't take me long to figure out that a BA in U.S. history from Harvard wasn't going to offer me a whole lot of job opportunities, and logically switched my major to Russian literature. 

After a year and a half of Tolstoy, Bulgakov, and Gorky, not to mention J. Crew miniskirts, and twin sets, I started to think that Harvard wasn't all it was chalked up to be. I mean, give me a break, it's a college. Do you know how many douche bags go to Ivy Leagues. It doesn't make them smarter because they went to Harvard, and it definitely doesn't make them a better person. So I said, "Fuck Harvard," and left. That's it, no hard feelings, but "peace out." Simple as that. It just wasn't meant to be.

Shortly after I moved to Switzerland, became a lady baker, and then moved back to California, and am now sitting nice and cozy in bed, with a book of Russian Fairy Tales at my side.