Measured and found lacking

Today was the day. GRE is over. Finally. Brain is fatiqued. Emotions wane. Scores were less than expected. Verbal 510. Quantitative 490. Analytical pending.

I feel like I have many times as a kid, looking at the wall where us children were being measured and marked. Trying not to stand on your tip toes. But wanting to. Getting marked. Then looking back to see where it is. Seeing the mark lower than anticipated, and not as high as the others. Then I would say, "Come on, I'm taller than that aren't I?" And the consolation given is, "don't be discouraged, short people are good people too."

Measurement sucks.

GRE, the moment of truth.

Yes, the day has come. I will soon approach the ominous "measuring stick" of academia, backing in to recieve the judgement, as we lined up on the wall as children to see if we had grown, hoping that we show signs of improvement. I'll be pressing my spine against the splintery reality of objective truth, by typing in responses to curious questions. Knowing full well that I haven't digested the necessary classics (Homer, Plato, Euclid, Rousseau, & Chomsky) required to give one the life-time advantage of recondite vocabulary and algebraic reasoning. Additionally, the more I take practice tests, the more my score decreases, leaving the uneasy feeling of "you can't learn this stuff overnight."

Measuring. The necessary evil in a context of progress. I'll be relieved when it's over.