Blankity Blank

Well, I'm out.

The test was three blurry days, blurred into one blurry haze. Punctuated with bad homemade sandwiches, a fried egg slapped on wheat bread. A handful of almonds.

And a lot of sweaty biking to and fro from the test site.

And some short excerpts from Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West, to help me sleep at night. (Love that book! Good writing!)

And horribly bad breath from dehydration. Can't waste precious test time on trips to the bathroom!

I definitely didn't do the level of work I wanted to. I definitely missed at least one big chunk of points in my last performance test. I definitely guessed on more than half of my multiple-choice questions.

So, it's kind of a crapshoot.

And now the prophecy is true: the worst part of the bar is the time between now and November 21 when the results get posted.

Passively waiting is the hardest thing to do. I imagine this must be what the cancer patient feels like, waiting for his biopsy results. Or the defendant waiting for the jury verdict. Except of course there's less on the line.

But now I have to face "real life" again. And I found myself completely unable to orient myself to life without the bar.

It's like a mild exam-version of the Stockholm Syndrome. Afterall, the bar has held me captive for over 2 months now. We had a symbiotic relationship. The bar told me what to do everyday for hours at a time. The bar flooded my mind, my dreams, my every waking moment.

How do I live without it? Who am I without the bar? What do I do now? It's too overwhelming. I have no more excuses to not live responsibly.

Is this how newly released prisoners feel like? No wonder they deliberately commit a crime to get thrown back in. Life on the outside is too strange.

So far I'm coping the only way I know how: endless reruns of Project Runway on my tivo.

Aufwiederzehn.