Lifestyles of the Young and Renting

It is officially out of my hands. Today, I mailed off the last of my internship applications. Statistics say that, with my nine applications, I have only a 64% chance of matching with a site. Such drama.

And yet, I am strangely unemotional about the whole thing. Last year, I had a girlfriend that went through this process and she made quite the event of celebrating each ‘milestone’ as she went along, which had much to do with local happy hours. I, on the other hand, couldn’t quite put my finger on one particular moment that was worthy of a glass of wine…was it the time I figured out which internships to apply to? The moment I finalized my vita? The day I wrote my last essay? Granted, I did feel that getting these beasts in the mail warranted opening a bottle of cabernet (manilla envelopes needing $4 in postage each)…but it was Saturday night dinner with friends, and that probably would have happened anyway.

The next ‘milestone’ will be in mid-December, when hopefully most of those nine sites decide they would like to interview me, and call me to let me know. Now, do I celebrate with every phone call I get? Only if I get called by all of them? I suppose I would certainly need a happy hour if I didn’t called by any, but I already have an interview arranged with a site in Duluth, MN as part of my travels home for Christmas, so at least that won’t happen.

So there’s the calling for interviews. And then there’s the actual interviews, mostly in January. And then I send in my list of top choices on February 7th. On Februrary 23rd, ‘they’ tell me whether anyone I picked, picked me as well. There is a 36% chance that no one will pick me, but unfortunately there are rarely ‘happy hours’ on the weekends. On February 26th, I find out who actually did pick me, and at that point, I will be going to happy hour no matter what.

And from that point, Matt and I will attempt to put our life in order for the next year…are we moving states or moving streets? Do we stay in this apartment for a position starting in July, or move to Portland for one starting in September? And who gets to fly back for their 10-year reunion? If we’re moving to Minnesota, we’ll already be there.

So yes…lots of potential drama, and yet I, a characteristically anxious "need to know" type, is unmoved by the whole deal. Maybe it is the sense that everything will work out fine…and if not fine, at least mediocre. All I really need to do is graduate. But in the next two months, I need to write five large papers, and I just now received my dissertation draft back from my advisor with more revisions than I was expecting…happy hour will just have to wait, there are more pressing matters at hand.

 This whole l’aissez faire thing isn’t too bad…now if only my advisor would see the light…

-l