How to Flunk

[1] Ride the slowest jeep in the world. It doesn't matter if you leave the house two hours before the blasted exam. That turtle crawl from Pantranco to UP has got to be the longest 45 minutes of my life. Dammit, I did not get up and eat early so I can be late. I already have issues about punctuality, ie, I have been trying my best to come on time, if not earlier than the proposed appointment. So far I have been successful. Morning person or not, I have found myself getting up at 6.30 am to make it to school before 9am. This just upsets me so much.

So I get to the office and I was afraid they'd forfeit me the exam, but Attendant Girl just leads me down the stairs to the dungeons of hell and hands me several pieces of paper and the questions. Who would have known that Julio Cortazar is going to be my downfall?

[2] Your brain functions at the current rate of 15rpm. Slooow. Read the text handed to you 3 times. See those words? They mean something--and they want you to say something spectacularly coherent about it. But. You. Understand. Nothing.

Which is really bad, because the text we were assigned were instruction materials: How to Cry, How to Sing. I wanted to cry, badly. But the author said that I only had 3 minutes to do it. Damn. If I were reading his pieces for pleasure, I would have appreciated it more. The guy was funny. But, man. Having to explain how it all hung together organically. Just skewer me please. Since them gods think they're being funny, they should have given us "How to Die" instead.

[3] Hypersense. I don't know if that's the word for it. But I could hear every single drop of moisture from the aircon unit, another examinee's pen tapping on the corner of his desk, the shifting of feet, and my brain screaming "Dammit! Methodology? What methodology are you talking about?!"

All in all, I feel like I blasted my way to Neptune. You know that feeling that you are da bomb? And you just exploded and you just want to slink down and melt and disappear into a puddle like those witches in Oz? Yeah, that sums it up.

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Related, but slightly. Okay, so The Mentor Dude has decided he wants to talk to me again. He texted me last night about my botched exam. He ran into my Fairy Dear Adviser in Malate which is just grand. But he's texting me since the Fall from the Workshop Heaven incident, so this must be good.

Or if I really want to be pessimistic about it: Mentor Dude is really just glad he's going to get rid of me, finally. My, ain't life grand?

I've never felt this shaky before. Dammit, I never wanted anything as badly as this in a long while. And if I don't get it, I have no one to blame but myself. Stupid slow jeep. Feh.