Imagination.

I mentioned a few days ago that I would appreciate knowing if I had my foot in the door or not...turns out I don't. So that's that I suppose. I shall finish the week and put it down as another experience. That's all I seem to have so far: experiences, which are all well and good but experiencing something is not the same as living it. I need to live.

I knew in myself this 'opportunity' wouldn't go where I needed it to because I just had one of those feelings, I drew my Tarot cards and read that dissapointment was enevitable and I believe the cards, they prepare me and now it's come to pass. I can't pretend I'm not slightly crushed because I am, but I know I was excellent, I know I put 100% in and I excelled. If they had the finances to open the door I would have been accepted, IF they intended on opening the door at all in the first place. It's a difficult one to judge.

I walked home and it rained lightly most of the way. Typical.
I headed through the lane that runs alongside my four walls and had forgotten in my depressed reverie that rain makes this little road very muddy and littered with huge puddles some so deep that you can't see through the dusty water to the bottom. I was reminded of Grace, I was reminded of that time some years ago I tried it; I jumped into a puddle in a childish attempt at escape. I didn't jump into a puddle this time, but all the slow walk between those puddles I thought about Grace and how many trials I might face in my life when already they're mounting up and kicking me down every chance they get. I wasn't in the best of moods.

I pictured Grace standing there at the other end of the lane, in all her fiery glory and I thought: "how long is it going to take before I get there?" I was so utterly miserable and I felt that thickness on the back of my tongue and the threat of tears, just the threat, just the sting. I watched Grace look back over her shoulder at me, as if to ask if I were going to linger in the rain much longer feeling sorry for myself? I took a breath, I composed myself, and I caught up with Grace at the end of the lane, rounded the corner and into those four walls thinking:
My imagination is the only wonderful thing about me, and it's all I truly have.