All I See are Lines and Curves.

I woke up to the ringing of the phone. Mom. Alarm.

Yeah, I’ll get up to bed, I said. I did not.

I was staring at the ceiling, gazing at the lines.

Lines and curves that haunt me.

I got out of bed and dragged myself into the shower.

Someone played such an awful song.

I hurried to go out of the cubicle.

My general instruction was not to let these examinations ruin my day. Never.

I tried to open the book.

In a very little time, law of diminishing returns might tell me that it’s not good to study now.

More inputs, less outputs.

I went to school, walking against the stream of joggers in the human-car avenue.

I managed to avoid externalities. I managed to be just calm.

I read a bit again. Review. Or so I called it.

Walk in, walk in, they said. Walk in.

The room was rather too bright. Too peaceful.

In the middle of staring at the empty questions my eyes closed.

It wasn’t that hard, isn’t it, a colleague remarked.

Yeah, right, I said. Really.

Next one’s gonna come, I remembered.

I’m not ready.

I haven’t read anything good.

I haven’t tried to understand.

It was rather a big pain.

A big pain it was.

Migraine invaded me.

The calm look of before started to be terrorized by worry-lines.

I haven’t prepared for the curves.

Lunch.

We walked for lunch. Real lunch.

By the time we came back, there was no more time.

Scans, scans, scans.

I thought I need more time.

I realized I needed divine intervention.

It was time.

Walk in, walk in.

Once inside, abandon all hope.

The resonant trembling in my head paralyzed me in the chair.

It was rather not for thinking, but for dying.

Answer sheets. Questionnaires.

The cold air seemed to wage war with my awkward heat.

Fuck, what was that? How come I forgot to read this part before?

Firms. Competition.

Marginal. Fixed. Average.

Cost. Revenue.

My inside self went on searching.

Answers. Ideas. Correct ones.

There were hardly any.

I just wanted to explode into small pieces.

Oh how lovely.

Two hours passed and I was more awkward.

As awkward as ever.

The proctor playfully went to and fro the room.

He seemed to be entertained by our answer sheets.

I was trying to give him my don’t-try-to-look-at-me-or-even-go-near aura.

It failed.

Of course, I can’t cast it to him with my eyes.

I’m too busy trying to understand how things work.

Two and half hours.

I was dying to go out of the room.

It was rather hell.

Ten minutes before third hour.

I stood up. Gave my papers.

I wanted to show him my awesome get-off-me stare.

But I attempted to be as calm as ever.

I went out.

How I dreamed of banging the door.

How I wish I could just blame the proctor.

But I can never do that.

The marginal utility might not justify the marginal utility.