Fuck, man, fuck.

This is one of those really random personal posts. This has no business being on my blog, even. I just need to vent. Things have been going steadily downhill and I am becoming more and more depressed. One of those times when you want to blame someone for the shit you’re in and realise that you cannot. I have no idea if I will even complete this post, but if you’re reading this, you know I have. Or I may not have. I might have just gone ahead with the half-baked thing I have like I tend to do with a lot of things. Things which usually end up fucked because of my half-baked preparation for them.

Take exams for instance. Not a new thing. I’ve been going in half-baked for exams for 4 years now. I always used to scrape through. And I assumed that I will do the same this time too. Despite higher stakes this time. With a job and a possible IIM K call on the line, the genius that I am, slacked off even more than I do normally. So much so that my mother gave up yelling at me 3 days into the study hols.

And now, I am reaping, baby. The first 4 exams are all touch-and-go affairs, though I guess I’ve done just about enough to scrape through, based on previous experiences. But today, the devil came to collect. It even had a paranormal touch or two. The paper was not what you’d call a particularly sadistic one, it cut my kind some slack. On first glance, it looked like I’d got away again with watching School of Rock on the eve of an exam again. But 2 hours and 45 minutes into it, I was still sinking in the muck, trying hopelessly to break through to the surface – the hallowed 40. I have NO fucking idea where all the time went, I did spend some 5 minutes sticking a pin I found on the floor in an eraser I found on the floor.

When the invigilator collected – the devil rarely comes on his own to collect, he sends his minions – I was still scribbling away furiously. Not something which happens normally, I lay down my weapon long before the final gong normally. And I was horrorstruck to find that I’d not found time to put down at least 10-15 marks worth of questions. When you work with the margins I normally toy around with, that’s a death knell.

So, I am depressed. Even more than yesterday. It’s the season IIMs hand out their calls and many good friends have converted their dream tickets. I’d not really given thought to my K call until last week, but the other IIMs publishing their lists have generated a flurry of wellwishers enquiring when I will be packing their bags to IIM-K. Bless their good spirits but Father, forgive them. They do not know what they are doing.

So, as is my habit, I’ve been doing a lot of useless thinking on stuff which I cannot undo now, like the interview which didn’t go particularly well. With the Cryptography text open in my lap, I was replaying the interview, wishing I’d said some things differently. That added to my normal slacking, if I might dare to say so. Or may be not, I might have just spent the time on thinking something else, probably.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’m fucked anyway.



One thought on “Fuck, man, fuck.”

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