I've been handed a generous position as a teaching assistant for fall semester in both intermediate poetry and an introductory creative writing course. On the cusp of a hellacious Spring Break the offer is completely overwhelming. But I'm not stupid; a letter of recommendation from this professor could be a big shoe in for the grad school of my choice.
I planned my schedule for fall and then sent an acceptance email.
Now I'm going to go hang with Mavrodes and see if I can further untangle his argument for God and morality.
Then I'm going to meditate on being capable of tackling the Everest of work that needs scaling in the next nine days.
Why does achievement matter so much to me? Don't tell me it's genetic. I'll punch you.