Just a day after my first French beat-down, I suffered another moral defeat. The babysitting went well and the girls’ grandparents gave me another snack. There was even a surprise waiting for me in the office in the form of a package (thanks Athena). This was shaping up to be a good day until I got to class. That’s where it all went down hill.
My writing professor gave me back last week’s exam and the muscles in my face relaxed so much that it looked like I was melting. I couldn’t move. I just stared at the sea of red ink that seemed to envelop my own beautiful blue pen strokes. The students sitting beside me stole quick glances at my paper, but I wasn’t compelled enough to flip it over; there were more burning red corrections on my dictation that covered the back of the exam packet. I couldn’t escape. Was it caused by pre-holiday anxiety?
The professor distributed some worksheets to be done in class. I struggled with mine. After getting a grade like the one I just received, I was resigned to be passive, especially since this was the last class before the long vacation. She grades our papers in front of us during class and she was, again, surprised at my work. 10 questions. 7 wrong answers. Time and time again, I screwed up the use and placement of the direct and indirect object pronouns and she was taken aback by how elementary my mistakes were. She asked me what level my French language class was. This is not the first, nor the second time she has asked me this question during the course. I told her that I’m in elementary 3, but I’m really in intermediate 1, as I tried to save face. Didn’t matter. I shouldn’t be making the same silly mistakes over and over again.
I’ve got a few more weeks to step it up before the end of the semester, so I’m not done yet. I can’t wait to dump this class and start over with a clean slate, and new classmates.