Compelled.

I have been pretty sad since my last post. The first step toward the vision I had for, well, the rest of my life, started with that June residency. As if that wasn't enough, I have been hit with other heartaches relating to my daughter and the love of my life, with whom I am now, no longer in contact.

Marlon. It's because of him that I stay single. I know no-one who moves me as he does. But I gave him up, sent him away, because he's not mine. After some six years of never quite making it, it turns out he belongs to someone else...

So two nights ago, I stayed up all night, after receiving yet some more disappointing news. I have cried recently more than I had in years. That night, two nights ago, was just more of that same unusual flow. My restlessness was compounded by calls of concern throughout the night that ensured that any chance I had to be taken over by sleep was consistently and thus permanently interrupted. My loneliness made me feel as if my head was under a blanket, I kept grasping for air, and fighting the urge to block my number and call him. This was too much to have to deal with by myself, but he couldn't be here for me anyway. I had no one who could satisfy my need for true, connected, immersed support.

I figured I'd have to let something go, and it would not be my baby's future. I wouldn't be compromising the dedication of time and self to her. I'd have to give up everything related to music - which is a big part of my life. Another loss.

To make up for my sleepless night, I slept throughout the day yesterday. First, however, I hung in my mind, sorting out the problems, and beginning the solutionary process. It was time to get it together. I sucks that I have to do this by myself, but that's the reality, so I just have to do it. I began to map out a plan, set a schedule for writing it out and beginning to implement it. The process of finding solutions is comforting to me. It let me sleep.

I love Edwidge Danticat. Maybe, I thought, I could approach her to mentor me as a writer. My circumstances may allow her to consider that. My acceptances may ensure her that my writing has reached a level that would warrent her consideration. As a fellow (amazing) writer and graduate of an MFA program, she'd know the significance of my situation, may be sympathetic. I would be. I have and continue to mentor, why should I not expect that someone would be interested and willing enough to mentor me?

I spoke to the lawyer representing NYU today. He said that NYU will allow me to use my transcripts to apply to NYU's MFA program. Their program is awesome, but doesn't have Non-fiction. I wonder if I should apply anyway. I write in poetry and fiction, but I really did want to go into a non-fiction program. I'd love to strengthen my poetry. I was accepted in poetry as well as non-fiction, so it's possible and applicable. I didn't apply in fiction, because I feel so weak in that area, but I really am very interested in developing my fiction chops...

I intended to study all three: poetry, fiction and non-fiction.

Sigh! Bennington.

With my transcripts, I still don't have a BA, I simply have enough credits to qualify for federal financial aid. Will NYU even consider me without a BA? That is what I thought was the big question when I began the process of applying to Bennington and Lesley. But the challenge lay elsewhere. What are the hidden challenges to these new paths, should I choose to forge one of them?

And really, as far as that goes, do I really have a choice?

Some will say I always have a choice. Those would be people who don't know me as one driven by compulsions, such as the compulsion to fight, and never give up.

I haven't fully processed it yet, with my life being so busy, but it seems I have come to the end of the road. Having secured no funding, I did not send a deposit again to Bennington by the March 1st deadline. My deferment has been withdrawn and I have been invited to reapply in the future.

I really don't have any more to say at this time. I'm on the verge of crying about it, but I haven't really given myself the time.

It's at times like these that I wish not to be single, but to have someone to whom I can pass the letter after reading it, who knows just how significant a blow this is, who will simply lie me down and lie behind me, or on top of me, and hold me, so I can cry.

Yeah Baby! That's What I'm Talking About!

Ray Charles, Jerry Lee Lewis
Uploaded by Hanvak

Roses really smell like...

The first scholarship for which I applied was that offered by the R.O.S.E. Fund...  I completed the online application, which when submitted, didn't work.  I had my transcripts and two rec letters sent to them, forwarded my private (and embarrassing) financial information.  I completed the short essay questions, and made the application a Word document that I sent as an email attachment.

I was told I'd be notified in December, and that they fund in January.  This made them my first priority, for all other funders focused on the fall.  This was the one that, should I receive the scholarship, could get me the funds in enough time for me to start when I was supposed to - also in January.

There were some issues with this.  I'd be pushing it close to the deadline to pay my bill, and would have to negotiate something around when I paid based on when they announced and exactly when they would fund -  I really was pushing it close.  Also, they did not specify how much they would fund, but my impression is that they give you what you need.  So, I was super psyched about this particular grant.  I felt I had a good chance.

In December, I called to find out when they were announcing.  January, they told me.  

January.

Hmm.....

Well, that changes everything.  I didn't even bother to belabor the fact that he initially, without a doubt told me they would announce in December.  January would have been entirely too late from the giddy up and I would have deferred.  And now that I have been informed that they will not announce until January, guess what I have to do?

Defer.

Bennington had awarded me a $2000.00 scholarship for my January semester.  That has been lost.  I have no funding, and lost my $500.00 deposit.

There are actually a lot of reasons that June is a better time for me to start than January.  My daughter will have graduated from 6th grade and won't be in the middle of school while I start school.  There are five residencies, and so if I start in the Summer, my extra, or fifth residency will be in the summer too.  I don't like winter, and Vermont is colder than Philly, so that is also appealing.  It would give me more time to secure greater funding and rearrange my life so that I would be able to focus most of my time on my academics.  

However, I completed my writing packet, researched and created my reading list, had been reading literature of the faculty, and made my list for choices for my faculty mentor.  I was ready, and so I wanted to go.  But I couldn't, and I didn't.  I'm hoping to report something different for June, but right now, it's looking less promising than I'd care to admit.

Deposits of Seeds and Money.

A part of accepting Bennington's offer of admission was sending a deposit of $500.  I actually don't tend to have extra amounts of money in the $500 range sitting around my starving artist and stay at home mom with a child in private school household.  But a week after I accepted admission, I was supposed to have my paperwork in, with the $500 deposit. 

Hmmm......

I immediately made phone calls.  Did anyone have any work for me?  

Mommy needed her locks done.  She'd give me $25 each time and pay for eight in advance.  $200.  She also said she'd pay the difference between what I earned and what I needed.

Aunt Lillian wanted me to do her hair.  She is working toward wearing it naturally.  $50.

Daddy needed yard work.  $200.

Total: $500: $450, plus $50 gap from Mommy.

I want to talk about the yard work.

I went to my father's in the late morning with my puppies.  They ran around his yard while I helped him reseed.  This entailed me digging up a huge patch of grass on an incline, clearing the patch of all grass and weeds.  The patch was several yards wide, and several yards tall.  The clearing took about 10 hours.  I then bagged the yardage, put down fertilizer and seeds and covered the area with hay.

When I finished the job my hands, feet, legs, arms, and especially my back were all on fire.  But I had earned my deposit money.  I loved it the whole time I was working - breaking my back, callousing my hands, scratching my legs that burned with mosquito bites.  I loved it, because it was me working for what I want...

...my place at Bennington, my place as a writer.

Life Goes On.

So, I received a letter in the mail. The envelope said it was a public relations company. I almost threw it away unopened, but I checked it out. It was a letter regarding the Linda Lael Miller Scholarships for Women. It indicated that they received my application after the October 1st deadline, and that my application would not be considered.

I called and asked when they got the letter. October 3rd, they said. That surprised me. I felt sure were it not there on the first, it would definitely have been there on the second - which would still have been too late. I suggested they consider postmark dates in the future.

I got off the phone and immediately got a headache. I have been working in such a one track way toward my future, the future toward which this MFA is an important step, that I have put my present situation in jeopardy. When I should be hustling in cash, I'm applying for funding, and so this needs to work.  I really need to be considered for every scholarship, but repeatedly, for varied reasons, amazing opportunities are not opening to me.

For instance, my essay was not chosen for the Atlas Shrugged Essay Contest.  I was informed by email.  I was not as disappointed by that.  I really hadn't had time to work on that essay.  It was done in a couple of hours, with no time for true editing.  I was not able to flush out any significant ideas.  That was about not giving up, giving myself a chance.  The Linda Leel Scholarship was different. I mailed it too close to the deadline, having been under the impression that the scholarship was a postmark deadline, and not a "received by" deadline.  I had not done my due diligence.  I feel that I would have had a chance of receiving support from them if I had done better.

I had to keep it moving.  I still had the R.O.S.E. Fund and the A Room Of Her Own Foundation's Award of Freedom.  The latter would not notify in time to make a difference for January, but the R.O.S.E. Fund announces in December, funds in January.  That was the only award on which I was really counting  for January.  All others were awards I was working on for the remainder of my academic career.  I had a headache.

Keep it moving.

Ishara and I went home and while she cleaned her room, I sliced four potatoes and four habenero peppers, cut string beans and diced fresh rosemary. I layered a baking pan with aluminum foil, spread in the ingredients, seasoning generously with Adobo and sprinkled in this grille sauce I picked up at whole foods. I then cut in half each of the two large pieces turkey london broil that I'd marinated in the same grille sauce, placing them above the mixture. I covered it with aluminum foil and baked it for half an hour on 400 degrees. 

I had never made this dish before, I was making it up. I hoped it would taste good, and it did. It was a little too peppery though. I often slice habeneros into my meals, but this was more saucey then some others, and the pepper really got into the food. We enjoyed it - Ishara asked if we could refrain from speaking because the food was so good to her. We did drink two cups of juice though. Next time I'll just cut the peppers in half.

I felt better after I'd cooked, eaten and cleaned up the kitchen. My headache had become negligible. Life goes on.

C.R.E.A.M. Get the Money. Dollar Dollar Bill Y'aaalllll!!!!!

I can't say the number of scholarships for which I've applied, or how many essays, statements and letters I have written. I created a table with the details of each potential funding source, and as I applied, I grayed it out and moved on. One of significance is the Ayn Rand Atlas Shrugged Essay Competition. What makes it so significant is what I went through just to apply.

The contest was simple. I had to read the book Atlass Shrugged, with which I was unfamiliar, and choose one of three questions to answer in a 2000 word essay. I finished applying for another scholarship, and then went to the library to get Atlass Shrugged. It wasn't there. I went home and went online to find out what branch had it. It was at the Northwest Regional branch, close to my house. I went the next day, Saturday, before they closed. I'm not a fast reader, but I'm not the slowest, and I can read for hours straight. I'd read the book Saturday and Sunday, and write the essay Monday through Wednesday, when it was due.

Ha!

That is the longest book I've ever seen - rivaling the Bible for first place. I hustled home, (I had walked, taking a leisurely stroll through the park on my way to get the book I expected to have read by Sunday) and got my daughter ready to be independent for a few days. I then lay on the sofa in my room and read for about 10 minutes before passing out.

The next several days I did nothing but read. I took time to brush my teeth every day, but only showered once. I ate as I read, and cursed chores for standing in my way. Why the fuck do dishes have to get dirty in the first place! I took stretch breaks when I walked the dogs. Otherwise, I stayed in the bed reading all day and all night.

We ran out of toilet paper. I had to go out to the store and get some. I also got food on that run, since we'd run out of that too. Ugh! I don't have time for this shit!

I finally showered Wednesday morning, because I couldn't stand to smell myself any longer. I continued to read, and read every word, (well, accept for some of the redundant, please beat me over the head with these same ideas speaches that covered pages of the book at a time). Did I mention that the words in this 1080 page book were significantly smaller than this?

I finished the book, which I actually really enjoyed, in spite of the fact that it was at times a bit didactic, and began to work on the essay with only hours to go. At this point, it was about finishing more than anything. It represented my desire and determination to go to school, my passion to write.

Ishara (my daughter) expressed her concerns that Monday Night. "Mom, you've been working so hard! I'll be so sad for you if you don't make it."

"Baby girl," I told her, "you better not be sad for me. We're going to celebrate. You see how hard I'm working, you see my determination. That deserves congratulations. Hard work is it's own reward. And even when I get it in, if they don't pick my essay, we will celebrate. Because a letter from them represents the fact that I completed this, I got it in. That's what I have control of. I don't have control over whether or not they pick my essay. I do have control over whether or not I give up, or I fight, you understand? I'm a fighter, and so are you. So let's go."

This challenge was particularly well timed, because Ishara too was fighting for something. We were just beginning the application process for her to enter a new school for seventh grade, her current school having only grades K-6. The first application she was completing was an intense process, and she had already lost much of her work due to a sudden power outage in the community.

She cried, of course. And I told her to suck it up.

"Crying is not going to fix the problem. We'll always face obstacles. The time you spend crying and being frustrated and regretful is simply taking away from the time you can be functioning as a problem solver. You can't get stuck in what didn't go your way. You have to be a solutionary."

By Wednesday night, as I wrote my essay that had to be uploaded before midnight, my contacts began to give out. I'd been reading tiny words for too long. I could see the monitor, but as I went to reference page numbers, I couldn't read the words in the book. I was blinking and rubbing my eyes to make out a sentence, or so, but my eyes kept giving out. I eventually had to take out one contact and use one eye to see the monitor, and the other to read through the book. I did it, read over the essay a couple of times, and then saved and uploaded it at 11:46.

I don't know if it would be their best essay, but it wouldn't be the worst. Worse come to worse, I'd be prepared in advance to write a better essay for next year's contest. The important things were that I did it, and that my daughter saw me get it done.

Together, we celebrated my completed essay, and her completed application. To me, these struggles, the facing of challenges that move you somewhere meaninful, are what my life should always be about.