Because Good Grades Totally Mean I’m A Good Person

Last Tuesday I took the first French midterm. The class had their choice between taking it Tuesday and Wednesday, and I had something planned for Wednesday, so I decided to take the exam on Tuesday. We’re learning stuff at such an accelerated rate anyway, the dents the informational assaults leave in my skull are nearly permanent. Studying more wouldn’t have helped.

Remember last weekend when I went to Jackson Hole? I did bring my textbook, and I opened  it for about 20 minutes the entire weekend. But I was sitting at a counter in a friend’s friend’s apartment, and two rugged and very intelligent and interesting mountain men were talking very intelligently and ruggedly about something interesting, so did I study? Not really. They did ask me how to say a few things in French, so I answered them.

Then I closed my book, and I didn’t open it again until I got back to Provo.

Tuesday was the first school day after the holiday, and class got out at 11am, and I figured I could take the test at 4:30, which would give me 5.5 hours to review.

They give us a two-hour time limit for the exam. I took an hour and 45 minutes, which included double-checking the answers I knew and didn’t know.

But at least I got it done, and I didn’t have to worry about de-stressing on Wednesday before going through with my Wednesday plans, which, as far as I’m concerned, were far more important than the exam.

So, while people accused me of being an overachiever, and while sometimes I admit to being one, the reason for taking the exam on Tuesday was less achieverist and more … humanist?

We got our exam results and grade printouts today. I was expecting the worst.

The worst did not happen. I am relieved. I have a good grade in the class so far.

It’s seriously blowing my mind.

And I have to be ready to do it again next Tuesday.

A little discussion.

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