I went in with two personalities. One me said, you've got this in the bag; the other me said, you can always take it again. It was a lot less intimidating than going in to the LSAT--no 100 yard long line curling about in the lobby, no thumbprint. Just a couple of chairs and some smiling, helpful faces at the counter. Nonchalant. Go ahead, take your silly test.
I can't really just go in my sweats, though it may be the comfortable route. Casual chic suits me better for these occasions. So, I went in my "new" jeans. See, I got a few pairs from my sister-in-law last May that I had to bend laws of physics to fit into. A few carrots and push ups later, they're my new comfy jeans. A feeling of accomplishment, just by getting dressed. I'm already winning.
I love that they give me ear plugs and giant headphones--I felt like I was gearing up at the shooting gallery (my dad will be proud). How did I do? Well, instead of feeling like crying with shame at the end of it, I felt like laughing at my own ridiculousness-trying to pummel through 8th grade algebra. I felt like one of those really awkward little kid ballerinas, you know--those ones who scrunch up their hands and shoulders into something vaguely reminiscent of first position. That's what I look like trying to do math. A giraffe with strep throat. I could go on. When I told my friend my quantitative score, she straight up laughed at me. So the ridiculousness wasn't just me.
Verbal? A'ight. Just a'ight. I'll wait to see my percentile writing before I decide to take it again. Writing section? I thought I made some very compelling arguments and analyses...whether the graders feel the same remains to be seen. The hard part is over though. Now I know the staff, I know the layout. I can even bring my own earplugs--actually no, they probably wouldn't allow that.
And just for the record, I must be a glutton for punishment because I went to the dentist's office right after the test. Or I might just be sick, because my dentist office's staff always cheers me up. I love those gals (Note: these are not the evil wenches from the oral surgeon's office). They tell me to take more yoga because my jaws won't unclench, and now I have to get some weird "bite plate" thing. They said I can't just use an athletic mouthguard. (I asked).