So I had two tests scheduled on the 29th of April. Big ones. The first was an anatomy test on the majority of the musculoskeletal system; this entailed memorizing the origin, attachment, innervation, action, orientation and associated structures of a hundred muscles or so. Refer to here to see the scale of this undertaking. The second test was an analytical biochemistry test: I was relieved to discover on the day that it was all multiple choice. Regardless, for the entire weekend beforehand, I did my best to try and cover everything.
Though I made a genuine effort, cramming doesn’t work. It never works. Well, not for me, personally. On the morning of the 29th I felt so tired and disillusioned and disappointed that I simply gave up and resigned myself to whatever would come my way.
Just after midday, sleep deprived and propped up on caffeine, I drove the 45 minutes to the teaching hospital where the test was to take place. I arrived just as the test was about to start, and ran around the hallways trying to find my venue. I finally found the other students, who promptly informed that they’d written the test already. The previous week. The initial wave of panic was broke by the fact that one, I had shown up on the date of the test as set out in the schedule given to me at the start of the semester and two, no one had informed me that the date had changed. So I thought I had a kind of administrative immunity. Anyway, the lecturer arrives, and he begins by apologizing and stating that the test had been rescheduled for the 20th of May. Combined with discovery of the multiple choice biochemistry test, I smiled in relief. I wrote the biochemistry test that night and was confident that I would pass.
So, that week and the week thereafter, I bust my ass making good on the promise I made myself that I would do good in the subject I had failed the previous year. I spend hours each day going through literally hundreds of anatomical flashcards, fastidiously studying and memorizing every relevant detail. I pushed, sweated and suffered, but I made progress.
Last week, I was sitting in the IT lab working as usual, when these two guys from the anatomy class come and sit next to me. They tell me the test has been rescheduled again, to the 13th. At first I thought I could feign ignorance: again, the lecturers had not informed me and I could turn up on the 20th with no fault of my own. Instead, like an idiot, I go and check with the lecturer, who confirms the rescheduling. I had planned to have everything finished by the 20th, but now shit was coming a week early. Additionally, I had another test and a major report due on the 13th. There’d be no way I could cover everything.
For the first time, what was usually regret and disappointment turned into anger and apathy. I now understood why the kids who struggled in school had this gigantic ‘fuck you’ attitude towards academics. You try and you try and you try, but then the system fucks you. It is indifferent to your incompetence, be it due to lack of intelligence or lack of preparation.
Of course, I have no case. I knew at the start of the semester what the test dates would be for everything. From the university’s perspective, the anatomy test was postponed two weeks from the original date, so I should be doing spectacularly in it. Unfortunately I’m so fucking hamstrung by my own inability to focus that the only preparation I typically get in is some frantic, uncoordinated cramming a day or two before the assessment. But god fucking damnit, when that first postponement came, I busted my ass to use the opportunity. And then they reschedule it again so that my time is split between three fucking assessments, thereby allowing me to do shit on all three.
So I’m pissed.
On the bright side, I ended up scoring higher on the biochemistry than most of the tryhards in my class. Not that I’m not a tryhard myself; I just really fucking suck at trying.
The anatomy test is in an hour and a half. Since the first test turned out well, I only need to score 1.5% (yes, one point five) on this test to obtain an average high enough to write the final exam, so I’m not terribly concerned about fucking things up in the long run. This time, a shoddy score is going to be more the result of bad luck than inadequate preparation. Still, the feeling of not being able to answer most of the questions on a test still fucking sucks.
Some small consolation is that I still have the opportunity to rape face during finals. So that’s something. If I could choose a soundtrack for the next four weeks, it’d be this, on repeat: