The Nightmare

It just mocks me. Every single time. Without fail.

It's amazing just how much fear three letters can instill in my mind: S. A. T. Couldn't they be just a little bit more familiar and a little less humorous? It seems ridiculous to fear the past participle of a verb or an empty acronym but I guess there's nothing for it. Irrational fear must prevail. And it does. Oh, it does.

So aside from repeated and horribly persistent attempts to get my score above the shamefully low base it is at now, my summer has been more or less terrible so far. It's bad enough knowing that half of friends are having a blast in Paris and the remainder have finished learning geometric progression (not that I strive to learn it, I just wish they hadn't), but to make matters worse, my duo of pain-inflicting exams finish only after another week. Another week of incessant test-giving and relentless piano practice cruelly awaits. Thanks a ton, you up there.

Critical Reading. Why? Why did such a nefarious thing have to ever exist? ETS, you're unbelievably malevolent. I can't begin to rant about the extent to which you're evil. My Math score will soar, my Writing score will rocket, but my Critical Reading remains stuck to 710 like chewing gum to the bottom of a shoe. Stomp, stomp and stomp, my scores beaten to the dusty ground. And what is the purpose of the word 'Critical' in the section's title? Does the ETS attempt to mock my critically abhorrent scores? Or underscore the minimal value it always appoints itself? It's maddening. Really, really maddening.

So clearly, the SAT isn't exactly the best thing I've encountered in my lifetime. But it certainly isn't the worst or the scariest. <Shudders on remembering the French Oral>
So till the 4th of June, this is all you'll hear from me. Unless of course I suddenly discover a life-altering recipie for making revolutionary chocolate cookies, in which case, I will swiftly return. But in all probability, I think I should really say what I must right now: adieu.