I thought I could have studied more; taken the subject GRE more seriously. Not awfully unprepared, but, you know, just not exactly ready for it.
There was no “ready” for this. No amount of studying could have prepared me. That test was probably the biggest waste of time, money and effort. I don’t think more than two “must know” pieces of information were on there: The Canterbury Tales and Beowulf. Not one notecard written in a subtle shade of you-better-fucking-know-this red was there. No winged chariot, widening gyre, passionate shepherd or a drop of water, anywhere! Instead, I got a fucked up ghost story, an obscure quote from a gay dead author, and a racist basketball. And one Restoration Comedy.
Yeah, some stuff I studied was on there, but I didn’t answer one-fourth to one-third of the questions. That’s somewhere around 60 questions. Poor time management was troublesome, but I didn’t even recognize an alarming number of authors or works listed. I would only be less ready if I had attempted open-heart surgery for those three hours instead.
Being told to put my No.2 pencil down was an anxiety-ridden moment indeed.
But hey, it’s done. I survived, Sarah survived, and we had a blast at The Full Monty in Minnesota. Plus this epic failure eliminates the number of schools I plan to apply to. Sweet. More money to celebrate my academic anticlimax.