I am one of those people who is crazy when it comes to grades. I know a letter doesn’t mean everything in the scheme of things but, well, to me they matter. Since going to school is my job, grades are like performance reviews and, I can get a little cray cray when someone tries to mess with them. With this in mind, imagine my surprise when yesterday I saw a copy of my transcripts from England and, there was a big fat F in one of the classes. Uh…what? Uh…WHAT?
You see, if there is one thing that has the power to destroy me, it is my grades. Almost every major meltdown in my life has involved a little alphabetic character that gets printed on my transcripts and then promptly forgotten the next year. When that little alphabetic character is an F though – things get real.
I knew the grade was a mistake because I knew that I had put a lot of effort into my assignment (and I have a 3.73 GPA – I don’t do slacking) but, despite this, I found myself calling my mom and exploding in tears. I am not a big crier, instead I store up little things in my brain for months and then KABOOM! – a tear explosion, a tsunami of emotion crashing into whoever is lucky enough to be in the vicinity.
I am so entirely and completely stressed out in trying to get these study abroad credits to transfer. I left England in December but, despite my constant insistence, the transcripts still aren’t here and, it was only just yesterday (four months later) that I got a copy of my grades. I need those credits to graduate, and I am chomping at the bit to get this transfer thing done and over with.
An F isn’t going to cut it for me (because I know I earned an A or a B) or for graduation requirements (failing grades don’t count towards total credits), which means a lot of work to get the issue straightened out before May, which is especially difficult since DMU and I are on completely different continents. It’s not like I can drive there.
What happened to being a kid and staying in my pajamas all day eating Frosted Flakes? For all its benefits, being an adult can be hard freaking work sometimes. All I want to do is say screw this and go rock climbing instead but, I’ve been an adult long enough now to know that’s not how it works.
We’ve got to keep trudging through the hard parts to get to the good parts – if we give up and stop when it’s hard, we’ll never make it to the sunshine, we’ll be stuck in a big mud puddle forever. It’s a good thing I’ve got my rain boots – I’ll need them until the sky clears.