SWORDFERN
Rooted, I used to think.

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Wednesday, Dec. 04, 2002 @ 10:46 pm
Mrs James Herriot



The Application is in the mail. My transcript is on it's way to cold and snowy Saskatchewan too. Who there is going to read it? What happens if the guy skimming it over is having a bad day and chucks it in the reject pile? What if my grades just aren't quite high enough? What if they think my animal experience is not extensive enough?

What if.

I didn't tell my parents that I finally applied. I'm sure that Karen spread the word, but she sometimes just randomly keeps things to herself. This could be one of them. I'm afraid that I won't get an interview, making me look like a fool for applying.

It's all I can do now, though. It's done. Out of my hands. Now I wait. I think that my application is decent. So it's up to fate to decide if that's the life route I should be taking. If I don't get in then I will take a year and go WWOOFing: harvesting grapes in Italy, herding sheep in New Zealand, pulling yams in Chile... wherever I end up. Actually.. that's sounding fairly awesome compared to Saskatoon winters...

I was just over in the poultry building to get my weekly dozen of eggs from the cooler... and there on one of the shelves is the beginning of the Egg Hall of Fame. Complete with Jiffy Marker on paper towel sign indicating as such. And this is one damn fine egg. So tall, so oblong that it's nearly a cylinder.

The handwriting on the sign is distinctly male... if one can generalize that female printing is more rounded while male writing tends to be more angular... I've gotta find out which volunteer created this most amusing monument. Time to do some stalking. This guy HAS to be cool.


Roots | Shoots