About two weeks ago, I had to send some paperwork to my study abroad program to let them know that I am planning to attend, as well as give them information about my entire life thus far. I double-checked that everything was filled out, signed, and answered (including the dreaded question: How would you describe yourself?). Yes, everything was completed, so I sealed the envelope, and, with butterflies in my stomach, dropped the envelope into the outgoing mail bin in my school’s mailroom.
Just as a quick sidebar, I always get butterflies in my stomach when I send mail. I think the potential for everything to go horribly wrong freaks me out. Also, the fact that the outcome of this event is completely out of my hands terrifies me. And rightly so.
After I sent the paperwork, I forgot about it. I figured I had done everything I could, and since the postmark would indicate that I had met the deadline, I thought I could relax.
I sent these papers out on a Monday. On the Friday of that week, I received a curious text message from one of my friends while I was at work. Apparently, the envelope containing my paperwork had somehow ended up in her mailbox. Being who I am, I took the news calmly and continued writing.
Just kidding. I freaked the fuck out.
After apologizing profusely to my friend for no logical reason, I thanked her for re-sending my envelope while making a mental note to buy her an extra nice birthday present next year. Then, I hastily emailed my study abroad program to explain the situation, again apologizing profusely and assuring them that I was still interested in attending.
I spent the weekend waiting with bated breath for their reply.
On Monday, probably sensing how frantic I had been, my study abroad program assured me that they had not given away my spot. Also, it didn’t matter when my paperwork arrived, as long as it arrived. And with that, I forgot about it again.
Imagine my surprise when, on Wednesday, I found a suspicious envelope peeking at me through the window in my mailbox. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the envelope contained my paperwork. Well, despite the initial shock of the matter, I maintained my composure and collected the rest of my mail.
Got you again. Of course I panicked.
Why was this happening to me? Does the universe want me to stay put this badly? Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I re-mailed the envelope.
I’m not taking this harrowing turn of events as a sign that I shouldn’t study abroad because I’ve heard superstitious people say that bad things happen in threes. My envelope has only been returned twice.
On a related note, Fate, if you’re reading this, please know that I am not trying to tempt you. Return to your regularly scheduled program. P.S. you’re looking fabulous.
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