An Actor's Agony

  It's agony.  This is agony right here.  Like I know the outcome.  I have decided I am truly god, I am one with the universe, I can see the future and I know the facts.  I know my place in the world.  And all I want is that sweet sweet rejection letter to come, to tell me that I didn't make it, but thanks for coming out, be sure to apply next time!
Like that would be heaven right there.  Outright rejection would be delightful, not this grueling, Chinese water torture style of waiting.  Each hour that goes by, each click of the refresher button on my email, each eager glance at my phone when it vibrates, is another slow step into hell.  No, not hell.  Hell would be a delicious beach, a fruit ripe with juiciness. Nay, this is limbo.  This is a place where hope and failure come to hump like rabbits and produce abundant bi polar offspring:  Yes, you made it! This is a sign that they want you! No, you didn't! They don't want you and worse, they forgot you.  When they told everyone that they would inform people either way, they murmured "Except her.  Not this girl in the front with the desperate look of desire in her eyes.  Get her out of here".  
All I'm saying is this:  When Patrick Henry asked for liberty or death, like, they responded promptly. That's all I'm saying.