it's funny how some words or phrases can evoke such different emotions at different times in your life. i've been thinking about that a lot as exam week has descended upon us here at clemson. when i was an undergrad, exam week was the most frightening thing i could ever have imagined. i remember the night before my first french exam during my first semester at furman, sitting in the little common room of our freshman dorm hall, when i found out that there was actually a grade point average differential between an "a-" and an "a". at that point, i was convinced i was going to be a pediatrician--thus i was a biology major--but i was taking an intermediate french class, and i wanted to make sure that i got an "a". (hello, kelly, extreme anxiety about an elective class????? time to change your major, perhaps?) so i emailed my professor and then showed up for the next exam (at 8:00 AM) to ask him if i could take it at the later time--he looked at me like i was crazy and, of course, agreed (since he had already given us that choice earlier in the week and said it didn't matter). and, here, a belated thank you to dr. patton and dr. allen for EVERYTHING that they taught me, both about french language and literature, and about how to be a caring and effective professor...
flash forward quickly through the horror of the 500 organic chemistry flash cards accumulated--to no avail--over a semester, and i come to the night that i spent in furman hall with various friends (i was in the room THAT long) while studying for the 18th century literature exam--but this time it's not a memory of panic, but of pure happiness while diagramming the different interpersonal relationships of les liaisons dangereuses on the board and making sure that i could recite what happened in each letter throughout the book (and helping several people with severe relationship crises off and on).
unfortunately, grad school seemed to have killed that pure bonheur, as the next memory i have is of wearing a pink t-shirt while editing (for the thousandth time, because maybe then i might understand the fundamentals of what derrida meant) my first lit crit paper. the memories of anguish and anxiety over grad school final papers continue (but attain a normal level after my arrival at emory), but then segue into a memory of thinking, 'final papers? pleeeaaseee! i wish! how about a dissertation defense!'
anyway, now the relief from the other side of the desk is palpable! what a great feeling! but, oddly enough, anxiety still exists...even though now it's that of a teacher for her students, it's just a different kind of heart-rending, and makes me want to give out hugs for extra credit just before the exam...
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