I called my father last night to get my ass kicked because I love pain like that and when he heard that I was considering a neato journalism program back in beloved Gotham, he told me in his gentle New York way, "Now or never. You're not getting any younger," adding that all the aches and pains I feel these days are only going to get worse by the time I'm his age.
Me: But the deadline is in one month!
Dad: So what? Did you go to Harvard or not? Show me that Harvard brain!
So the GRE's. In one week. "Maybe it'll be easy," I promise myself, and stay up until 4 a.m. listening to Twilight on my iPod.
This morning I arise too early with the fear of Dad in my heart and jump right onto the ETS page. I take one look at the practice math problems and my eyes roll back into my head.
Then I realize that I was actually looking at "Helpful Facts About Algebra" and not the questions.
I'm going to go call my dad again for some more house of pain.