GRE: Good RiddancE

Yale held up the hoop.  I jumped through it.  It's pretty much as simple as that.  (And I'm so glad it's over.)

I am a freak about not being late for things, and so I tend to arrive ridiculously early.  Cue Thursday morning, when I left the house at 6:05 AM for an 8:30 exam.  Yeah.  Like I said, a little ridiculous.  But it was all good, because after inspecting my ID, giving me a key to use the restroom, searching my bag, turning out my pockets, taking my picture, and waving a metal-detecting wand over my entire person, the very kind proctor let me start my exam early.  I wrote two essays, I picked out words to finish sentences, I read passages and answered questions, I scribbled math equations and figures and angles and oh dear god, the angles, but then, THEN - it. was. over.  And I said YES, and then YES, REALLY, I MEAN IT when the computer asked me if I'd like to submit my scores, and then it asked me one more time and I was like DEAR GOD JUST STOP ASKING ME AND SHOW ME WHAT I GOT.  And I looked, and I squealed (silently), because you guys, I did it, and it's over, and *knocking-so-hard-on-wood* I think it's good enough to get me in.  I think.  I'll find out my real scores in a few weeks, and I have the rest of the month to whip out some essays for the application and then November 1st will roll around and I'll have to hit SUBMIT and then YES, REALLY SUBMIT, and then probably again, DEAR GOD YES SUBMIT THIS APPLICATION NOW BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND.  And then, if nothing else, it will be out of my hands.

When the exam was over, and I was doing a happy dance in front of my locker, I had a moment.  I had a moment that all at once thrilled, terrified, and saddened me (mostly because it was gone in a matter of seconds).  For a moment, I felt like I was more than a number on the scale.  I felt like I was smart.  I felt like I had used my brain, my brain that I was given and of which I am sometimes proud, to learn and to study and to work hard and then to sit down and do the very best I could and it had meant something.  I had done something with my brain other than count calories.  I had done something that I was proud of other than lose weight.  And even though that moment was brief, it gave me the tiniest bit of hope that there will come a day when maybe, just maybe, I won't always feel like a failure.  Because then, right then, I felt like something more.  I felt like me again.

I hope.