What is this strange feeling?

What's it called when something good happens to you because somebody decides that the work you do is pretty good and they want to give you the opportunity to do something you've been wanting to do for a long time?  Is that hope?  Guys, I think I'm feeling hope.

A couple weeks ago I got acceptance letters from St. Mary's in San Fransisco and the University of New Orleans.  My excitement has been on a bit of a slow boil, but I think I'm headed for a full on joy rampage.

I just declined my spot for fiction at St. Mary's which came with an assistantship, due to lack of funding and the school's high expense (I'm sorry but you forced my hand St. Mary's, why can't make your decision deadline be April 15th like almost every other school in existence). I'm trying to dwell on the poetic justice of getting to reject a school after being rejected by so many other schools last year, but I'm mostly gripped with an irrational fear that UNO will rescind my acceptance for mysterious reasons or simply to satisfy their lifelong goal to recreate the eternal struggle between Lucy and Charlie Brown only instead of a football, they're using my hopes and dreams.  

This fear exists because when I applied back in December I got an email from UNO's graduate school letting me know that my application would not be processed.  My snail mail writing samples, however, still made their way to the creative writing department and they liked me enough to want me in their program.  I was recently notified that I somehow failed to submit my online application at all and was told to fill it out again to tie up that loose end.  I'm not one to throw around the term "miracle" but I am convinced that with strong writing samples and divine intervention, dreams really do come true.

That being said, I'm probably moving to Louisiana this summer to become a famous writer and teacher.

Prank phone calls are simply opportunities to make new friends.

“Dayman, aaaaahhaaaaahaaaa fighter of the Nightman. . .”

Watching Dr. Who on the back patio at midnight when the wife is away for the weekend is a perfect idea. I recommend it to anybody.

A Seattle number eh? I get wrong numbers from time to time. Living in Redding and having a Seattle area number invites that sort of thing. I tend to assume that these mistaken calls will be more interesting than anything intentional so I pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

I hear a man’s voice. It sounds like he’s at a party.

“Hello, can I help you?” expounding on my initial contact.

Click.

Normally I would continue with my episode and ignore what has happened but today I am an asshole. Today I dial the number.

“Hello” I hear.

“Yeah, you just called me?” I respond.

Click.

Who was that? Why did he call me? It is officially the AM so I assume it is some sort of booty call or prank. I’ve got nothing better to do so I dial again.

The number rings, several times, but then is picked up and hung up within a second. I like to think I am fomenting paranoia.

I dial again. This time it only rings twice before it is hung up. I’ve got all the time in the world. Something about oysters or opportunity or something like that.

I could dial again but I don’t. Perhaps I will wait until I inevitably wake up in four hours’ time and leave a message then. I would hear his voice. I assume that by the message I would at least know his name. Nevertheless I create one for him. Jared David Burrows. Yeah, that sounds like the name of somebody who would call me at this time.

Hello Jared, I’m sorry I couldn’t get a hold of you last night. I look forward to speaking with you soon. I have lots of time on my hands these days. . . you know what I mean. I’m sure I’ll speak with you soon.

Yeah, that would be a perfect message. I would blow his mind. Confuse the shit out of some stranger and get him to start checking his shadow. I like the idea of forcibly entering one’s dreams, strangers don’t ask my permission so why should I?

Then again, I tend to shy from adversity. Sure I still wake before seven, the stranger’s number stored in my phone. I am sure he is asleep now. Even if he is not, he probably lives at least seven hundred miles away and who gives a fuck what he imagines he might be able to do to me, I’m the one with nothing to lose here.

Even though it is getting light, I roll over and fall back asleep. We all have regrets: opportunities missed, chances neglected, might have beens that never will be. I guess this is simply mine for this week. We all have crosses we must bear.