Mind you, Michel-Ange is still in the shop (There's a giant list of things gone wrong, and I'm only having them fix the vital ones that cost less than $400 or so), so I get to drive The Probe. This is my little brother's car, for when he's allowed to drive by himself. It's sporty, it's red, and they put a kickass sound system in it that has too many buttons for me to even understand how to turn the radio on. And the driver's-side shoulder belt (one of those automatic doobies that should slide around the door and sort of automagically enclose you in nylon webbing) doesn't work, so it hangs in mid-air, obstructing part of my view.
And the car goes klunk. Every time I turned right, or went over a bump with the right wheel, there it was: klunk. And it took me half the ride to school to figure out how to turn on the windshield wipers. This was not the way to soothe my nerves.
But I made it. And then I hopped in to take my exam, and looked at the first question and said to myself, "I know that!" Finished the exam, ran a worst-case evaluation (Miss all the unsure questions + 1/2 of the not completely sure questions) and got a failing grade, but barely. Mostly due to the not-completely-sure questions, of which there were a lot. Thought to myself, "That's good enough."
...And ten minutes later, I went back to see Lowene (the marvellous, the wonderful, who bought us back massagers for Christmas. And she showed me my grades.
Passing grade on the final is 70%, at least as far as I recall from all of our previous classes. And I pulled a 74%. Which makes my semester average a sufficiently-passing 78-point-something. I should have come in and gone over previous exams; there were a lot of repeats. And I second-guessed 3 questions, godsdamnit. I need to stop doing that.
But it's over. It's over-over-over. And that's all I care about. Still waiting on Pharmacology, but I don't really care about that either.
Mike: "A back massager....now all I need is to massage my hypothalamus."