not time for champagne yet

I don't know what's wrong with me... honestly, I could spend some time psychoanalyzing myself but that would just be another form of procrastination which at this point ... well, let's just say one of the two applications due today is in the mail (YAY!) but the other is one short three page essay away from being done.

I have written the essay, but it's four pages and even if it weren't four it would still be too long... it's just that there are parts that don't belong there but if I didn't write those parts I could not have gotten the rest out... now I need to really edit as though this is not my life I am cutting into shreds, so I decided I would just post it all here ... don't feel obliged to read it, I just want it to have a little longer life. Then I will cut and pare and edit and make it into a pretty lithe little piece about my life...done.

just the little rant I sometimes need to do in order to make writing happen

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I am a child of children of the depression. That has always meant doing more with less and a fierce determination to reach my goals. As much as I have always relished my accomplishments as my own, in truth, every step I take is with the history of my family. My immigrant grandparents left a war torn country for the unknown and struggled for years to both provide for their family and retain their dignity. My orphaned grandmother who ended up in an Indian school with her siblings as New Mexico became a state and had to think like an adult to hold her family together when she was only 10. My grandfather, the son of sharecroppers, rode the rails from farm to farm eventually learning the blacksmith trade and thus secured his family’s future. When I look back at my accomplishments they both pale in comparison and stand in honor of their struggles.
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