25th June 2015

Today I found out the classification of the degree with which I have finished University. And I feel indifferent.

Due to the nature of my degree (Maths, in case you didn’t know that) it was relatively easy to figure out how well I had done in each of my exams before I’d even got the results, I knew what questions I’d answered correctly, and which ones I hadn’t. I knew my previous results and I had worked out the marks that I needed to obtain in each exam to get each classification.

Because my January exams didn’t go as well as they needed to, it left me needing a massive overall average in the summer if I wanted to finish with a 2:1 degree classification, which was my goal from the start. And because I knew I needed to average something like 73.4% to get a 2:1, I just discounted that as a possibility before I sat the exams. I knew that I’d never done that well in exams before, so I wasn’t going to do that well in all four of the coming exams.(For what it’s worth, to get a first I needed to average 99.8% over the four exams, so not completely impossible…) So instead I settled on a 2:2 (the classification below a 2:1, if you’re not familiar with the British Degree Classifications) I knew that to get that all I had to do was continue with the steady marks that I’d got in all of my previous exams. To get a third (one below that, I basically just needed to pass everything.

But then I sat the first three exams and they went better than I could’ve ever imagined, and then without telling anyone, and without even really telling myself, I suddenly started thinking that maybe the 2:1 was possible, just as long as I nailed the final exam.

But the final exam went awfully so my little glimmer of hope was extinguished. I’d done the Maths, I’d worked out pretty much what I’d’ve scored in every exam, and I knew that I had got a 2:2. So when that little envelope came this morning it was no surprise for me to learn that a 2:2 was exactly what I’d got.

And I didn’t feel anything.

I wasn’t happy, I wasn’t disappointed, I wasn’t shocked or angry or relieved. I didn’t feel anything. I got what I expected to get, but not what I wanted to get. Throughout my first two and a half years of University the goal was always a 2:1, and then January came and knocked that goal down with power tools and a sledgehammer, so I settled for a 2:2. And that’s what I got.

I am not feeling much because I already knew, yesterday I told my Mum that I know I did well enough to not get a third, but not well enough to get a 2:1. So that leaves a 2:2. I’d be disappointed if I was expecting a 2:1 and I got a 2:2. I’d be fucking ecstatic if I was expecting a third and I got a 2:2. But I was expecting a 2:2, and I got a 2:2 so I don’t really know what to feel.

Everyone keeps congratulating me but I don’t really think it’s worthy of congratulations. A 2:2 in mathematics is not a bad degree to have, not by any means. I know that any degree in Maths is worth a helluva lot more than a degree in most over subjects. If I’d’ve got a 2:1 my Mum would be in tears, if I’d’ve got a third my Mum would be in tears. As it is it’s just a solid result. My mum is not in tears. It’s average. It’s nothing to throw a party over, but it’s not worth planning my own funeral over either.

Until tomorrow, I don’t know how to feel.



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