You know, I don’t feel the sense of eviscerating panic that tends to come with failing to meet self-imposed goals. This here outlet isn’t so much like a new, pressing project so much as it as a gentle gnawing on an old and familiar bone. It’s here when I want it to be, but I’m in the market for something else, so it’s not about to induce fevered prostrations out of this guy any time soon.
For those who don’t know, I’m intent on getting my Masters degree in the next couple of years. Now when I say “my Masters” I deliberately emphasize the my and leave the Masters part comfortably vague because to my mind it is strictly imperative that I possess the mythical document and not so much important what the details of said artifact wind up being in the end.
Okay, maybe that’s stretching it a bit.
The Masters of Public Administration/Policy is holding my attention in its jaws as it has for some time, dragging me up into a tree and away from the temptations of other degrees as it has. If you’re curious as to what this is, that one site everybody goes to for information can likely explain it to you better than I can. To my vanquished nervous system there it holds no strict definition, only a gestalt warmth and promise that Yes, little politics major, you can actually be of use to somebody if you go this way.
Problem is, my fearsome B+ average only just meets the minimum acceptable criteria for most of the good schools.
Sigh. The existential bane of all students picking over the strange paper that is the puncuation at the end four years of study. What does it do? Did I do it right? And why, for god’s sake, does this thing think I’m from Regina?
Oh, I guess it’s got the latin in there. My blushes.