Eating on roseate plates.

The previously dead optimism has revived itself.

Cheers.

I shall wait for February, whatever the results may be. The end result would always end in tears anyway, it's either the giddy kind of sappy tears or the egregiously sad kind of salt candies. weeh.

I digress.

I still need to get my passport (again, whatever the results may be).

All of this prolonged frisson began in June, and was temporarily replaced with much exhilaration earlier this month. I'm still immensely thankful that I was one of the lucky five. But the uncertainty is draining every ounce of optimism left in me.

And now, the frisson has grown into this vehemently huge roll of incessantly unnerving hope. Redundancy. I employ redundancy when I'm nervous.

I'll wait for you, February. I'll keep myself busy so as not to bequeath my dreams to a sad, anxious, metaphorical death. By April, I'll be looking forward to watching pale pink sheets fall from the sky.

Please. I hope that this one is really for me.

: )

I'll wait. I'll pray. I'll study.

Pessimism, you can't stop me from imagining how it would feel if I were in Ritsumeikan  hoping. *giggles inappropriately*