Not So Fast...

I just finished my Quantum Mechanics final.

It was bad. Really bad.

Almost a third of the exam was on stuff we covered in the last two days of class—one of which I missed with all the health stuff I've been dealing with.

In preparing for the final, I paid special attention to the topics I'd struggled with on the two midterm exams. None of that was covered on the final. The final was entirely new material. It's as if the professor said, "I could only put half of the material from the first seven weeks on the first exam, so I've put the other half on the final."

In short, my heart sank as I opened the exam and started reading. I knew was in trouble. So I did what I could do. I hope it was enough. I'm afraid it might not have been.

I tend to be pessimistic with things like this. If I'd ever received a pony when I was young, I probably would have freaked out about how I was going to find the money to feed it, or how I'd ever shovel away all the manure. So I may just be overreacting. My parents think I might be. I hope so.

But if not, then I'm not really done with school after all. I still haven't finished what I've spent much of the last two decades trying to do.

I've had to borrow a lot of money from my family to pay for these past two semesters. And they just bought a new house; there's no way I can ask them for another semester's tuition. I have no idea how I'll pay to retake this class again.

I desperately hope I'm wrong. I've never hoped to be wrong so much in my life.

--
My mother said I ought to find something pleasant, or at least distracting, to do, so as not to stew in this all day. A little Gauntlet on the PlayStation sounds like just the thing. That'll do, until I have to go to work, where I'll undoubtedly face a battery of, "So, how'd your test go?" I'm not excited.