Split personality

On Friday, I took the NMBE 's comprehensive basic sciences exam. Our school pays for each of us to take it, and thankfully, it doesn't count for anything. It's a practice exam of sorts, to let us know where we are and what we need to focus on for boards studying (read: everything).

It doesn't count for anything. That's the key phrase. Yet, I had trouble sleeping on Thursday night, and was as stressed out about it as I would be for any of my other regular does-count-for-something tests. Why? Because this NBME exam was going to predict my possible range of Step 1 scores, based on the performance of previous years' classes.

Holy crap.

I did not want to be the one random outlier (on the negative end of things). My biggest fear was that I would open up that envelope, and next to "Predicted Score" I'd see a 150. Or something. I was just so afraid to see a score that wouldn't qualify as passing.

So I was in my seat, waiting for the exam to start and trying to make the palpitations and sweating stop. Just breathe, Michelle. Just breathe. And as I sat there with my head down, trying to calmly collect my thoughts, I saw them.

Split ends galore. Not one, not ten, but five hundred million. It's like every single hair on my head had freaked out the night before and split (and not in a yummy delicious banana-like way). And then, before I knew it, the test had started, but all I could focus on were my split ends. And how gross they were. And how I would give anything for a pair of scissors at that moment.

The test sucked. Majorly. I was blatently guessing on 90% of the questions, and for the 10% that I had a vague idea about, I didn't know the second part of the answer that they were looking for. For instance, let's say that they described the Hokey Pokey. As I'm reading the question, my self-confidence would rise - "Yes! I know what they're referring to!" But then I would read the actual question, which might be something like, "What is the first body part that is involved in this group dance?" Then, I'd be like, "Oh crap! I know it's the Hokey Pokey...but what comes first? The head? No the hand. Right hand? Left hand? Oh god. B or C? B or C? Oh man, it's probably D, I haven't had a D answer in seven questions! Circle D, Michelle! Just do it!"

Take all that self-doubt and confusion and multiply it by a million, and you'll come a little close to feeling as I did.

The test took four very long agonizing hours. But it was good to experience "battle conditions." Now I know that I can't sit for four hours straight. And that having a muffin and orange juice beforehand really does matter. And that I should probably tie my hair back in a ponytail so that I won't obsess over split ends every five questions. Because I did.

So the moment it was over, I high-tailed it to the local salon and told the woman there to chop it all off.

"But why?! You have beautiful hair!"
"Oh, thank you. I have split ends though."
"Oh yes, I see that. But it's okay. That's normal for Chicago weather. You can't really do anything for it."
"Oh. Well I just want a trim, but take off as much as you need to."
"I won't take off that much. Don't worry."
"Haha, you can chop off as much as you want. I promise I won't cry about it."

She then started cutting my hair, and I smiled, glad that at least this one obsessive compulsion would be cured quickly.

She was done 10 minutes later. "Really, you have such beautiful hair, I didn't want to take off too much. Young girls should have long hair. Long beautiful hair so that men will fall in love with you."

Then she handed me a mirror, and I looked. And then I looked again. Because minus the blow-out job, I looked the exact same.

Yes, she had trimmed my hair. But just barely. It was a 1cm trim. On my longest layers. The shorter ones on top hadn't even been touched.

I didn't even know what to do, except pay the outrageous $50 fee and go home. Where I proceeded to find another five million split ends and started cutting them each individually by hand. Two hundred down, just a bazillion more to go.

I have half a mind to just shave my head, so that I can focus on studying, instead of what this terrible Chicago weather has done to my hair.

And I apologize, because I have no idea how a story about the NBME exam turned into a story about my ridiculously expensive and useless haircut. And I know that in the grand scheme of things, having a couple split ends here and there won't matter as much as my boards score will. But I can't help but obsess over them. Because I can fix those now. Quickly. In the moment. Without having to study for the next two months. Because I'm an instant gratification kind of person, but with boards, there's no reward until you get that score. And that's a long ways off.

But this is what I gotta do. I gotta study. And obsess over drugs and side effects. And not my split ends splitting.

I really ought to just shave my head and be done with it.