In honor of my calculus final:
. . .
It’s 11:39 p.m. on a Saturday night, and I’m sitting in my dorm room glaring at my two notebooks full of calculus notes and packet of 80 questions (with parts a, b, and c) that I was told doing was a CRITICAL part of doing well on this exam, thinking back to the last three days spent doing said packet, re-working every irrelevant math problem that makes one wonder at life’s greatest qualms, and procrastinating by writing a post on a certain blog that’s supposed to be about book reviews.
And then there was a moment earlier today when I looked up from my desk, made eye contact with my roommate who’s studying for the same calculus final, and we ask each other:
. . .
This is me as I walk into exams:
Five minutes into exam, the kid next to me has this happen to them:
And as I am pondering how to silently kill them without alerting the proctors, because of course they’re also coughing and sniffing in the most noisily possible way imaginable:
Ten minutes into exam:
Half-way into exam:
Five minutes before the exam is over:
When your friends ask you how you did:
(Because you don’t want to jinx it.)
And then getting the exam back, seeing the grade, and having the professor tell you the reason you got a question wrong is because:
. . . . . . . . . . .