Sure, I felt like the 45 cent dishrag at the dollar store.
I was the hot dog buffet in a room full of fat hobo's.
The weak dragon in a cave full of wizards.
The back hair at a waxing parlor.
The pencil in the back of the drawer.
I was disappointed when I found out that I wouldn't be going to grad school.
For two hours, I moped and dragged, frowned and shrugged. "I coulda been sooomeboday!", I shouted without my shirt on. I cried on bread before eating it. "I'm too dumb to eat dry bread."
"I'll never meet Madonna and I'll never own a robot!"
It went on.
"I'm so un-Fergalicious. I'm the anti-Fergalicious."
Obviously that was rock-bottom. Michael Conti, anti-Fergalicious?
After a few hours, I came out it and stopped feeling sorry for myself. I realized that studying writing in grad school wasn't God's plan. I have a different path.
I'm not sure what that path is, quite yet. I finished up at the CPA's office yesterday. That was ballzo nutzo times three thousand. I'm going to take a few days off to clear the brain out, then I've got to decide my next step. I've never had so many options. I could do anything in the world...Professional Jenga Player, Sushi Seller, Camp Counselor, Advertiser, etc. No matter what though, I have nothing in this world to complain about. The situation in Virgina is a reminder that most all problems are insignificent. I am so blessed.
When I tell people I didn't get into schools, they say "Oh man, that sucks. I'm so sorry." It's nice, but I don't really need to hear it. I'm a baseball guy, and I'm looking at the situation like I went 0-for-4 in a game. It sucks, of course I wanted better results, but there's another game tomorrow. And I'm due for a big one...