So I had this brilliant idea that I would finance my graduate school adventure with scholarships. My thinking went like this:
I'm a sometimes-grantwriter and an always-fictionwriter; I should be able to make my case with scholarship committees and get some funding. It's all about telling a good story, right? I can put on my poor-single-mom facade (I think it has big, glistening eyes that express silent suffering and stoic sacrifice) and talk about my goal to create social change by getting poor people to write about their lives. No problem.
Except... I didn't get the scholarships, even though, for the record, I worked my ass off writing five (count em--FIVE) applications in May. And now I have to face up to this (possibly) ridiculous ultimatum I gave myself that promised that I would continue with grad school only if I didn't have to go $20,000 into debt. Which, without the scholarships, I do. For an MFA degree that will increase my earning power not one bit. Sigh.
Now I'm having a "what is the purpose of my life, anyway" crisis that has absolutely spoiled the one sunny day in recent history.