Why Math Tests are out to Get Me

It’s a Monday. There is no world in which a math test on a Monday is a good thing. Nevertheless, I studied all weekend and the time has come. Right before the test starts I run to the bathroom. Not thinking about anything except the dreaded upcoming exam, I open the door. And smack it right into my forehead. At first and can’t even contemplate what just happened. Then the blood rushes into my head and my eyes fill with tears. I can’t believe what I just did. How am I supposed to take this test with such a headache?

At this point I feel it necessary to state that I’ve never really enjoyed math tests, headache or no headache. Honestly, I don’t know many people who do. As the years progressed and the math grew more and more difficult, my dislike for them grew into more of a trepidation. This apprehension gets a jump start as soon as the teacher announces when the test is, about a week or so before it actually happens. After that, I’m able to put the dread away and focus on the myriad of other things going on. Even so, the night before the test inevitably arrives, and that’s when the real panic sets in. I didn’t study enough. I forgot how to do this problem. What if I totally fail? Through all of this detritus floating in my head, somehow I manage to sleep and escape for a few hours at least. Then in the morning, it’s back to the real world. I try hard to not think about it. I attempt to focus on what I’m doing right then. But all too soon, it’s time to go up to the third floor and tackle my nemesis.

On the particular day of the door debacle, the test doesn’t go as bad as I had feared it would. I got the test back on Tuesday, with a fat B+ at the top. Not perfect, but definitely acceptable. I’m actually feeling pretty happy. Then my teacher tells us. We have another math test on Friday. Oh, crap.