The applications for a new start are in. Now, I wait.
The end of March is when the schools make their decisions. But postal mail between the US and UK is very slow. So, nothing yet. I've been watching the mail since mid-March. The first few weeks, I dreaded it, fearing a rejection letter. Now it's April; I'm being sued, well, I already lost by default, and I got fired, and I caused a second break-up with my ex-boyfriend, and then, later, I forced the man to tell me he wants no contact with me of any kind ever again. I don't dread the mail anymore. It's become the highlight of my life. I take my pleasures where I find them.
My friend told me to call or email the schools and find out already. I explained why I didn't want to.
Because, everyday I wait for the mail. It's a ritual. Going to get the key from it's drawer, walking out to the vestibule. Each act very deliberate, conscious. With my chest full of hope and anxiety. In that one or two minutes, I allow myself to dream. I hope that I can go somewhere else, and finish what I started. I turn the key and lift up the old brass flap. I look at the envelopes in the box. I scan their shapes, the color of the paper, and the addresses. I search for signs of British mail, or, preferably, a big fat acceptance packet. I pull out the stack and go through the bills and bad news. Nothing so far. I get a little disappointed, but it's okay, I know the mail comes again tomorrow. For as long as there's no rejection letter, I can still hope. I have one thing to look forward to. Right now, it's the only thing.
Quietly, my friend said she understood.