I suppose I’ll just run my fingers through my hair again and start over.
The math notebook is mainly a collection of physically abused pages violently scratched by a blunt pencil. I stopped thinking. I got sick of sitting with my head under my shoulders, reading one problem after another, so I stopped thinking about it and started doing it mechanically. And that’s when it all went fuckup. Of course I’ll be making numerous mistakes – I’m not thinking, am I? So, tell me, while you’re at it, what exactly are you doing?
“That’s how you prepare for an exam”, they told me. “Yes, you must be chained to the desk until it’s all over. That’s just how you do it.” But I can’t quite swallow the fact that I’m expected to do nothing except math for as long as the deadline allows me to, and, at that, be grateful for the opportunity. I don’t understand how suffocating myself in formulas will help. Alright, it’s an exam – arguably the most important exam of my life. I’ll give you that. Still doesn’t mean I can stop breathing for two weeks.
So, excuse me, but no, that’s not how I prepare for an exam, may it very well be the creator of my so-called fate.
To answer the earlier posed question, what I am doing is called nervous panicking. I am aware of the importance of the exam, but I can’t force myself to do anything that constantly. I’m at a mental crossroads, and no choice feels right. So I’m debating, and while I’m at it, I try to do another task, simply not to waste time while thinking. And that unconscious action already tells me which road I took…
So I sigh painfully over the wrong result, scratch it, turn the page, have a sip of coffee, run my fingers through my hair, and try again. Once more, with feeling.