I’ve got holes in my head and I’m not impressed. And you thought Mr. Pumpkin Head had problems.
It’s my stupid Statistics class, the one that is threatening to mess with my 4.0 grade point average. I go to every class, sit in the front row, listen carefully, take notes, nod my head, understand, do my homework, study diligently. I get it, I even like it.
Then come the tests. Fifty minutes, strictly enforced. Yesterday’s test had five questions. Miss one and you’re A falls to a B. Just like that. I missed one. Because I have a crack in my head, a hole through which all my preparation escapes. A soft spot where the most obvious information becomes muddy.
I finished the test in 30 minutes and went back over every problem and I still didn’t catch my error. Immediately after the fifty minutes were up, standing in the bright outside, commiserating with a classmate, I realized that I had screwed up, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since. The problem blatantly gave us the standard deviation of two samples, and I blatantly treated them like the standard deviations of two populations. Big no-no. Duh. I so totally know better.
It’s the time-limit thing, and the self-imposed pressure to get an A. I get in there and the timer starts and I feel like I’m skating on freshly Zambonied ice, super slippery. I feel like I’m floating above the ground, unsteady, shaky. There are holes in my head and my confidence is spilling onto the floor. Ugh! I don’t usually have this problem.
Last night, I told Ivan my sad story. “Come here” said my giant 14-year old. He gave me a hug. How sweet. Then he started tickling me. Just what the doctor ordered.