28 October 2013

100 Percent

Having enough credits to have graduated if I'd applied them correctly, I am now taking my last 100-level college class. We turned in our one paper a couple weeks ago. I put some good work into it, infusing anecdotes, style, and classy metaphors into one short page.

When we got the papers back I saw 100 circled in red pen at the top. A perfect score. And my first thought was, "Great, I spent all that work and she just handed out perfect grades for completion." Then I looked around (my vanity often compares myself to others' grades). I saw 83 circled. Next to it was an 87. A 93 peeked over someone's shoulder in front of me.

I felt no pride. I was not better than any of these people. I have a lot of experience that has made me a fairly good writer. I worked hard on the paper. I produced something good.
But it wasn't my best and it wasn't life-changing. So I felt sorrow. It was depressing. I could not be satisfied with my grade. By the standards of a 100-level class I probably did deserve the grade I got, but I could not accept it. I cannot accept someone's praise for a really good job. And I hate it.

This is a sad result of college for me. There is a poison I incubate, injected by teacher after teacher who refuses to give out A's in some self-righteous false doctrine of secular education. It secretes just as I want to accept that I am not mediocre. That I might just be above average or, dare I say, excellent. I can no longer feel the joy of accomplishment or even acceptance, because I have spent three years surviving a godless competition of artificially valued curves, as if my value is as chaotic or arbitrary as the stock market.

And in a way it shut me down. I have trouble trying in my classes now. I am sick of trying to impress someone who does not care about me. I am sick of teachers. I want a mentor.