Ripping Out My Hair... 1/25/2001
I have worked so hard in high school so I would be able to get into a good college. My parents have always stressed that getting into a good school is the key to a lifetime of success. They, and my sister, made college to sound like such a blast. I visited RIT yesterday and I absolutely hated it. Not just disliked it; HATED IT. The girls who were taking me around were very nice and friendly. The school, however, was falling apart, and the dorms were dirty and the size of shoe boxes.
I spent my summer art program at Carnegie Mellon University. Granted, it wasn't the best experience, but until now, I never realized how much I took for granted. The rooms were HUGE...more than enough room for me, my roommate, two sets of clothes that had to last us for six weeks (and believe me...that's a lot of clothes), and our art supplies. We probably could have fit another person in there. The bathrooms (although shared by 20 other girls) were also huge. You could fit at least four people in a shower, they were so big. At RIT, a bunk bed was crammed into a room with two computers; one was facing the front wall, the other was facing the side wall with a miniscule window. Two people could not be on their computers at the same time because there wasn't enough room to pull out both chairs. There's a 50% drop-out rate at RIT. I'd have to get up at 6 am every school day during my freshman year, because the foundation art classes I need to take for my medical illustration major are held at 7:30 am.
I was walking around that school for at least five hours and I've never seen so many seedy looking people in my entire life. Almost everyone in the art building had at least three piercings on their face, not to mention most had a hair color that matched Skittles. The only two fairly nornal people that I met in the art building were the two girls taking me around. I'm not even going to start on the boys that go there, because that's another diary entry in itself. I'm convinced that every Steve Erkel type of guy goes to RIT. I was so unhappy with the entire school I felt like crying. In fact, I was crying while waiting for my taxi to take me to my bus. And I cried on the bus, but I did it quietly, so no-one would be disturbed or woken up.
Life really sucks sometimes. I mean, here I am, researching colleges for the past year, trying to find the right mtach. And my sister Becca just kind of picked a school out of a hat, and POOF! It's the perfect match for her. She's renting an apartment this year. POOF! She meets the perfect guy for her next door. Not to mention all of the beautiful guys her boyfriend is rooming with. I'm convinced there's a God up there, who gave Becca all of the good luck and gave me all of the bad luck, just for his/her own amusement.
I'm at the point where I am just going to pick a school, go there for a semester, and then transfer to Binghamton, my sister's school. I didn't want to go to Binghamton in the first place because Becca goes here. Also, it didn' have an art department, and I really didn't want to give up art. Not that it matters now...When we were in high school together I lived most of my life in her shadow. I was simply known as "Becca's little sister." My joke with everyone is that I was going to change my name to "Becca's sister" so I didn't feel so bad when people would call me that all the time. Deep inside me, though, it hurt because that was like my name; my title.
All I want is for something to work out for me. Just once. Becca's been given a lifetime of good fortune, and I'm just asking for a small piece. I don't want my college experience to be like my high school experience. I don't think I could handle it, mentally, physically, or emotionally. I'm visiting University of Rochester today, so I'll see how that turns out.
Until my next entry
Artist
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