I was in a pretty chipper mood this morning. So when asked to collect the trash from the disgusting drive-thru trash can at work, I hopped to. On my little jaunt, I got to thinking about graduate school. I got excited, giddy. I was telling myself, "You can get into Columbia," and then started to daydream about what the adventure of Columbia's journalism program would look like, feel like, taste like.
It was at this exact moment that, trash bag in hand, the sprinklers turned on. Splattered back to reality with harsh cold water to the face I thought, "Perhaps we're not quite there yet."