FAIL/WIN

8:00

EXPECTATION: Woke up at 7:00 a.m. and skipped breakfast in order to turn in my homework before class started at 8:00.

REALITY: My hair looked great, but I missed the first half of the 3 minute pop quiz in class. That's ok--not like I knew how to solve the problem anyways...

Fail.

9:00

EXPECTATION: I understood all that was presented in the math review for my physics class.

REALITY: I forgot my iClicker, thus forfeiting another quiz score, when I actually knew the answers this time.

Fail.

10:00

EXPECTATION: Well, following the pattern of my morning, not much.

REALITY:  Answered the multi-step matrix problem (with no algebra errors in over 12 steps!!) on the board in front of the whole class. And got a compliment from my professor.

Fail.

WIN!

{Glad you showed up today, Luck. You slept in on me.}

A DAY IN THE LIFE OF SARAH

Expectation: I borrowed necessary objects of importance from Brigham Young University for top secret experiments in the bio lab with full authority.

Reality:  Today, I was paid to kife trays from the CougarEat which I used to collect dirt.  It is ok...it was all in the name of science.

Expectation: When the BioChambers malfunctioned today at work, I whipped out my toolbox and engineering skills to restore them to working order.  My boss gave me a raise.

Reality: I noticed they weren't working and promptly notified my professor so he could call technicians.

Expectation: I organized, weighed, and analyzed all 165 soil samples without labeling errors or contamination. 

Reality: I sneezed while holding a sample of dirt and all contents flew in various directions, mixed with other soils, and destroyed data for seven samples.  (Not including the sample that was scattered.)

Expectation: Because of my superhuman strength and cleverness, I was able to remove the tightly packed clay that was stuck in 2 ft-long test tubes with efficiency and ease.

Reality: Frustrated that wet clay was making a seal on the opening of the tube, I impatiently grabbed the nearest pokey-stick-like-tool to jab at the hardening clay--I chose the glass stirring rod-- which soon snapped in my left hand, gauged out a chunk of my skin so large that the doctor had nothing to "stitch together",  left me in shock with blurred vision, a diminished sense of hearing, a cold sweat, nausea, and a gauzed-wrapped finger the size of a small potato.