And... scene!

    I scroll down the page anxiously, foot tapping furiously on the wheel of my deskchair, doublechecking all of my answers. Well, it is more like skimming the page, making sure all the little blue bubbles are filled in. To my horror, I find one empty. Fighting the heart attack that grips my chest, I gently hover my mouse over the empty bubble and press my finger down on the button, filling it with the grey-blue circle like all of the rest on the page. I survived. I continue scrolling down the page, and to my relief, there are no more blank bubbles. I stop at the bottom of the page, staring at the rectangular button displayed on the screen, grey with a blue border, reading in bold text "Submit Answers". My adrenaline surges, and I hesitate, cursor hovering over the button, highlighting it and making it jump out from the page slightly, as if calling to me, begging me to click on it. I look at the clock; it is 10:17. The test took me just over one and a half hours. Yesterday it took me nearly three. I wonder for a moment why this test came with so much more ease today, but it is most likely due to the freshness of my brain in comparison to it's dullness the previous night.

    I continue to stare at the page, trying to summon up the courage to put enough pressure on my right index finger to end the suspense and receive my grade. But something inside of me is preventing me from doing so. I lean back into the firm cushion on the back of the deskchair and close my eyes, rubbing my palms over them and smearing my imperfect eyeliner applied two hours ago. Keeping my eyes closed, I run my fingers through my hair and think about the first part of the Spanish final I took first thing this morning, the speaking exam. I had not done the best, the pressure made me twitchy and drove my heartrate through the ceiling. As my teacher turned on her iPad and located the recording device she would use to record the exam, I felt a surge of nerves and emotion, accompanied by a wave of tears that tried to fight its way up over the rim of my eyes. Why am I crying? I asked myself, looking at the mauve wall and pushing the tears back down. My teacher sat down across the table from me, and pressed the 'record' button on her evil iPad with it's evil whiteness and evil red recording button. It looks completely evil, staring at me on the table, sitting quiet and ominous, watching. I shudder inwardly and turn my attention to my teacher, who is smiling, obviously excited to see what I have learned in these eleven weeks.

   "Hola, como te llamas?" she says, to which I reply with a simple "Mi llamo Adelaide."

   I am then quiet for several minutes. My teacher points to the paper in front of me, indicating that I should start talking. I look at the list, it is the same list she handed us in class two days previously.

• Tell me about yourself
• Tell me about your family
• Tell me about your daily routine
• Tell me about your future plans and obligations
• Compare aspects about things interesting to you
• Use superlative statements about certain things in your life

    Naturally, all the sentences I had composed last night at nearly midnight decided to grab their bags, tip their hats, and bid me an ironic 'Adios!'. So I decide to stare at the paper for a few minutes, feeding my teacher a few 'ummm.. ummm...ummm's' while I chase down my retreating compositions. Thankfully, I have longer legs, so I eventually am able to grab one and spit it out, not pausing in my chase of the rest. "Soy de Omaha. Soy alta y delgada. Estudio espanol." My teacher nods encouragingly with each sentence I slowly give her. "Mi padre se llamo es Neil. Soy alto y delgado." Did I really just re-use the same adjectives?  "Mi hermano se llamo es Oscar. Soy alto y uh.... umm... flaco!" Different adjective, success!

   It all started to really go downhill when I got to the comparison section. Because suddenly, The Beatles did not want to be compared to One Direction, even if they were mas talentoso. And my brother resented being menos alto que yo. So most of it turned into babbling, a mixture consisting of 40% espanol, 50% uh-umm-ah, and 10% awkwardly trying to decide whether to look my teacher in the eyes, or stare at the wall. I didn't even want to think about the superlative section. It was a virtual nightmare. Making things up on the fly works fantasticallly for me...in English.

   Finally, I glanced at the evil iPad of evilness. The evil timer on the evil screen tells me that I have been blabbing for five minutes and forty seconds, which means I have met my time. I don't even have to use my last few sentences, which decided to come back to me. I mutter one final "Mi amiga Sara es la mejor amiga" and smile at my teacher. She stares at me for a few seconds before muttering "Si?" making sure I don't want to add anymore horrific grammar to the recording. I reply "Si!" and hop up out of my chair, thanking her and grabbing my backpack, and then bolting out of the classroom Adios, windowless cinderblock cell! I smile at my classmates sitting in the hall nervously, telling them it is time for the next victim. Later, suckers! I head into the bathroom for no apparent reason, 'cause I don't have to pee. I hang my backpack in a stall anyway, and lock the door, immediately drowning in the waterfall that cascades down my cheeks. My sides heave and I don't give a crap about the mascara that is certainly streaming down my face now. I look up at the ceiling of the bathroom and smile so broadly, I think my teeth are going to fall out of my gums. I continue sobbing, trying to figure out if I am happy, sad, or a messed up combination of the two. I still don't know what caused all the emotion (PMS?), but all I know is it was overwhelming. It felt really, really, good. I felt like I was shedding some of the stress from these eleven weeks. Which was a lot.

~

   WHOA! WAKE UP!

   I just took you on a little trip through my morning. It was maybe one of the most nerve-wracking mornings of my life. Finals are intense... in-tents... like camping-nevermind. If you get it, you get it.

   I've been sitting in this deskchair in the Academic Resource Center at MCC for three hours now. My butt feels numb. My legs are stiff. My fingers are completely covered in bacteria from the disgusting keyboard that God-only-knows how many people have touched. Anti-bacterial gel!

   In conclusion, finals suck. Enough said.