My Head A'splode

I just wrote a devilish thing that was supposed to be a math quiz. It was much harder than the equivalent quizzes from the math class last term, which was taught by the same profs, so they know this to be true. On the way home, I rattled rather quickly through the stages of the Kubler Ross model of grief

1) denial - This is clearly an error on their part that will be corrected on the next quiz.
2) bargaining - I will stand up in class tomorrow when our prof asks if we have any questions and sway him with my potent rhetoric.
3) anger - Those dirty, crotch abrading, closely inbred, hydrocephalic, trisomy 21 afflicted, pedophilic trash baskets. How many times does the math department have to get shit on by the university to understand that they are, to use the vernacular, being a bag of dicks?
4) depression - oh god, I'm going to fail.

and finally

5) acceptance. - well, really, this isn't so bad, i just need to change how I study for my quizzes to focus more on theory and less on the application. I'll be okay.

Not bad for minor introspection on the failing of a quiz in the span of the ten minute walk from school.

It's going to be a busy year.