Slowly Going Out of My Mind… (Faster than Before Though).

I… Am… Going… Insane… Still no grades back from first term.

Came into campus today, nervous and expecting my graded term papers (it is customary for grad profs to also put the final class grade on these papers). My legs actually went to water while I was approaching the main office, where my mailbox is located.
NOTHING!!!

Ran into Dr. D. there, who said she would get the comments to us on Thursday, but that she had emailed us. (I refused to check my email last night or this morning because I have been checking every fifteen minutes for the last two weeks and really need to break that habit for my own health.) I thought the use of “comments” there might mean I have my grade, at least. So, I immediately ran to my office to check email and Loris (the online transcript thingy).
NO GRADES ANYWHERE!

Now, Dr. D. made it seem like I had nothing to worry about – but then they all act as if it is silly for a PhD student to worry about failing, as if we are just naturally able to crap out A’s at a moment’s notice…

But I don’t see it that way. Have I ever written PhD-level term papers before? No. Do I have a crystal ball? Not a chance. Was I super-pleased with those papers? Not really. Ergo, I have absolutely no idea whether I passed, failed, or got a high enough average to keep my funding… Yet they just chuckle and send me away with a smile, as if I am joking!

You may not know this about me, but no one EVER takes me seriously. People think I am joking all the time, as if I am Shecky Green, Jr. Sure, I crack wise occasionally, and I am short, with dimples, and I have a casual charm in an ethnic sort of way, but that does not mean that I am never serious in my concerns, comments or questions… Yet, still they laugh. With my Groucho-like eyebrows and my, admittedly, silly voice, they think I’m a great kidder.

Well, this Great Kidder is about to lose the top of her freaking head if the suspense isn’t ended soon. And now I have to psych myself all up again every day I come check my mailbox until I get those damned grades.

Crap. This chicken is tired of crossing the street. It’s scary.