kis·met \ˈkiz-ˌmet, -mət\ - noun; often capitalized
1. fate.
"We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language.
That may be the measure of our lives." - Toni Morrison

"Growing up Southern is a privilege, really. It's more than where you're born; it's an idea and state of mind that seems imparted at birth. It's more than loving fried chicken, sweet tea, football, and country music. It’s being hospitable, devoted to front porches, magnolias, moon pies, coca-cola... and each other. We don't become Southern - we're born that way." - Unknown

10 December 2009

panic then resolution

Remember the hiatus I took because of the two research papers I had to write? You do? Yeah, I remember too. Starting today I am back into blogging full force. Nothing can stop me now. {except for the finals that I have to take next week} But at least for the weekend, I'm back. Now it's time for a story; it's a good one at that.

On Tuesday, my Brit Lit professor handed back our final research papers {speedy grading on her part}. Remember how this paper was the one with the incredibly vague prompt? When I received my paper, I flipped to the back where the grade was, and saw the number eight. The class is based on a points system, so I whipped out my syllabus to see how many points the paper was worth. To my complete horror, I saw this: Final Research Paper - 20 points. My heart dropped. My mind went blank - it was nothing but a snowstorm in there. I went into complete panic mode. Class ended without any word on the papers {group presentation day} and I left barely holding it together. I have never scored that low on anything, ever. That just doesn't happen in my world. After my class I met up with Spencer. We found a quiet place, sat down, he put his arms around me, and I lost it; I cried for a good forty minutes or so. Later Tuesday afternoon, after I had calmed down and could think rationally again, I emailed my professor to see if there was anything I could do to help my grade.

This all brings me to today. After class I met with my professor, and she started off with saying something like "I don't really know what you're worried about; you have a solid 'B' in the class". I explained that I only got eight points on my paper. She then informed me that the paper was actually graded on a ten-point scale, but she had planned on counting the grade twice, hence the twenty points on the syllabus. Why she didn't explain this to us on the syllabus or before she handed back the papers, I haven't the slightest. Apparently I wasn't the only one having a panic attack, and she said that in the future she was going to be much more specific about that on the syllabus. That's good for her future classes, but I still had to suffer through two days of sheer terror and panicking. {not fun} At least the story ends well, and my grade on the paper is actually an eighty, not the forty I believed it to be for the past two days.


Karen said...

I have to say that I was so glad that Spencer was there to help is hard being so far away during melt downs ;) Love ya!

PS I no longer think that your prof. is a pin head. hehe

Brittany said...

That's terrible! I had a mini panic attack for you while reading. I can only imagine how you felt. I'm so glad everything turned out okay.

lotusgirl said...

Yea for Spencer! Boo for the Prof! Honestly, what's her deal? She needs to get more organized about the way she does her class. Sheesh! It's so unfair to the students.