This is such an example of how my mind works and why I sometimes cause The Man to grab his forehead and start moaning about joining the Michigan Militia.
I applied to grad school. I submitted my application on the day it was due since apparently having 9 months of prep time was not enough. I actually wrote the essay 2 hours before I went to school to drop it off. Two minutes after I dropped off the application I called The Man in sheer panic and asked "My G-d what if I get in???" He said "Then we deal and we save money since we won't have a social life" Trust him to be logical while I am panting my way through an anxiety attack. He did make me laugh which made me feel better so I hung up got in my car and went to work. I walked in, turned on my computer then I called him in sheer panic asked "My G-d what if I don't get in???" He moaned and said "Then you research other programs, continue to work and get experience and we don't save money because we will still have a social life" Alrighty we have a plan either way, I felt better. That was Feb 1.
Since then I have not heard a stinking word from grad school. NOTHING! NADA! ZIP! I have gone from "I graduated from that school of course I got in to Dear G-d they are not going to let me in AND they are going to take back my degree when they realize that I am a big goober.The Man has received numerous phone calls since I tell him everything that goes on in my head. He has been very creative in his responses for I have lots of anxiety regarding grad school. Then we have a break in my quest for an answer.
I had lunch with the ex-head of the Psychology Dept at the school and she said she would send an email to the professor who is in charge of reviewing applications to see what is going on. I have been checking my email every morning hoping that she has sent me words of wisdom. NOTHING! NADA! ZIP! Until yesterday.
She said that I should be receiving a letter telling me who is going to interview me. You would think that I would be relieved since even if I don't get in at least I went to the second step of a three step process and that proves that I am not such a big goober. Nope not me. I called The Man in sheer panic "An interview! I haven't gotten the letter yet. OHMIGOD! What have I done" He reassured me as he always does but as he was hanging up the phone he was muttering about living in the woods in a shack and growing a beard.
I think I broke him. Oy Vey.