Friday The 13th, I Embrace You

My family (well, me and my younger brother, at least) have a custom of using unlucky superstitions to our advantage. Camy, my little brother,  opts to wear the number 13 jersey no matter what sport he is playing, claiming that it brings him luck. He’s a pretty good athlete—who’s to say that his choice of number doesn’t influence his abilities? I hold a similar belief about the number 13. While most people cower in fear of the unlucky number and choose instead to embrace “lucky number 7,” I put my eggs in 13’s basket. (That sounds really weird.)

At one point a red “13” sticker affixed itself to my current wallet. Even now that the sticker has peeled off, I still consider it my “lucky 13” wallet. I don’t leave home without it. When playing roulette (don’t gamble, gambling is bad—now back to the subject at hand), I put the majority of my chips on 13. It pays off—literally!

Friday the 13th has never been able to touch me, either. Most superstitious people cower at it—even more so now that Rebecca Black and her “Black Plague” have their grip on the day. Not to sound morbid or egotistical, but I feel as if everyone else’s notions of bad luck fuel my good luck. It’s kind of like messed-up karma. You probably all think I’m absolutely insane for even taking these ideas seriously, but I have proof positive that there is something lucky about Friday the 13th for me.

Well… I may not have very much solid evidence aside from some very, very good days occurring on that date, but yesterday took the Friday the 13th cake.

If you’ve been following my blogs here, then you might remember that I was accepted into the University of Ottawa’s English degree back in March. Due to time constraints and a (seeming) lack of interest from Carleton, I was forced to accept the offer. Course registration for my fall term began yesterday.

At least, it should have.

But this Friday the 13th brought me some of the greatest news in a long time. I made it my goal that morning to figure out what was happening with Carleton. I won’t go in to the details, but I was pretty much left at the same point I started. Fast forward an hour or so later, and I was logging in to my Carleton applications for the second time that morning. Not expecting anything, I opened my application for journalism and skimmed it quickly. If I hadn’t already been waiting 5 months for any sign of change on my application, I might have missed what I saw next. My application, previously “Under Review” had been changed to “Admitted: Final.” From what I could tell, I was in. I! WAS! IN! *knocks on wood*

I didn’t take any chances, though. I called up Carleton’s undergrad office for the second time that day and explained my situation: “My account changed from ‘deferred’ to ‘admitted.’ What does this mean?” I was quickly assured that this was a good thing—that I had been accepted and (bonus) the offer couldn’t be taken away.

So, I’d like to apologize. If you experienced any misfortune this past Friday, I can’t help but feel somewhat responsible. Without your bad luck, this might not have happened. I might not have been able to freak out customers with my goofy grin at work that evening. I might not have been able to render my mother speechless (if only for a second or two) with the news. I might have had to start registering for courses for a degree that I was probably going to be switching out of anyway. So, again: I’m sorry!

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