“My feelings are hurt and I just need to be mad about this for five more minutes before I’m over it. After that I’ll be fine. But for these five minutes I’m a parakeet and my feathers are ruffled,” I said. It was hard to resist the urge to crumble up my personal statements and beam the nearest architecture student with them.
But that would be mean.
The guy at the writing center said that my personal statements sucked and I was pissed because he was right.
Try, try again.
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