Watching me preparing to take any standardized test must be like watching someone the morning of their execution. Because, of course, this test is not merely a measure of my test-taking skills, it is an accurate and unquestionable measure of my worth as a human being. If I do not do well, the world will not end. I will die, of course, but the world will not end.
Deep down I know none of this is true, but for about twenty four hours this sort of lunacy bubbles just under the surface of my frail, silent, terrified sanity. I try chasing it away with self affirmation, but I'm so much better at sarcasm. Occasionally I can drown it in copious amounts of orange soda. Why orange soda, you ask? I honestly have no idea. But thanks for asking. This time I cried on my husband's shoulder while he affectionately told me that I am, in fact, totally insane. It worked pretty well, actually.
But anyway, I passed the GRE. Or, more accurately, I laid that sucker over my knee and spanked it.
Pity Anthro programs care so little about GRE scores.