Tests. Admittedly, I’ve never been that great of a test taker. I can excel in any subject, but once I’m tested on it I can’t seem to remember anything I learned. I freeze, mentally, and everything else around me begins to float in and out of my mind like the drag queens of the NYC Pride Parade – loud and larger than life. The clock’s tick-tock shaking the floor like an earthquake, and anxiety the bully not letting me off the merry-go round. The only decision that can be made, at that point, is whether or not to stay on and vomit or jump and break a bone.
Life paces along and hard work is churned out just to get those rations of advancement the world doles out for good behavior. Nothing extreme – good or bad – just the monotony of the every day that moves you along from day-to-day. Then without fail, life pops a quiz on you just when you thought you were done with being tested. You smile when you’ve passed the short-answered tests, and return to your nondescript routine thinking you know who you are. You didn’t stray from the straight-and-narrow, and you’ve somehow beaten life. You see the signs leading up to it, but ignore that sooner or later you’ll be faced with a colossal test that will challenge you to bend in ways you never thought possible but you will, bend. You’ll have no choice.
As expected (but you’ll act like it’s out of nowhere, after all you ignored the little signs), life test you something of Mensa caliber. It seems like a new language developed just to trip you up. The questions don’t even make sense, and you’ll go about methods of learning you never suspected you could learn. Maybe you’ll cheat. Maybe you won’t. Then, like the rainbow to the rain, you’ll make a little sense out of a whole lot of nonsense. The question turns to English, and the answer spelled out right in front of you. By the time you’re done with the test you’re no longer the same person holding a number 2 and hoping “c” is the correct answer. Instead, you’re either an idiot or a genius depending on how you studied.