being paranoid about grades that is. I worked myself into a right tizzy over my summer grades: one because the prof is a notoriously hard grader and the other because I still to this day didn't know what she wanted. And I whined. And I worried. And I worked damn freaking hard. And it wasn't a big deal after all.
Unless, of course, the reason they weren't a big deal was because I freaked and worked so damn hard. Hmm. I see a place with white, padded walls in my future.
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