Grades: Oh, I got lucky.

My marks are in. My Sanskrit professor is a very, very generous grader.

The verdict: I'll be able to apply for honors in Asian studies next quarter. Thank god.

Sanskrit - 3.6 (A-/B+)

This means I got approximately a 3.4 on the final. Either that or she gave me a 4.0 on my class participation -- that would balance a 3.2 on the final. But either way, she must have graded that final very, very generously, because I was guessing and giving partial answers. This is better than I deserve. I would rate my performance at a 3.2, or a 3.4 at best. But I'm grateful for her good-heartedness and accept the 3.6 with glad relief. This saved my GPA.

Creative Writing - 3.7 (A-)

A little harsh, but not so harsh that I can justify a protest. I deserved a 3.8. The obvious effort in the re-write of my first story should have bumped that grade up, and the second story was a 3.9-4.0. I have a feeling the professor/T.A. graded everyone low as a reflection of his feeling about the class as a whole. Next time? I don't tell the teacher I have any experience writing. :)

Ethnomusicology - 4.0 (A)

Oh, I hoped, but his final was so sneaky and littered with trick questions that I wasn't sure. I hoped for a 3.9 at the least. The class was easy, the tests were hard, and... you know? I always do better in a class I enjoy. This class was a blast.

Time to break out that bottle of Saki and celebrate. (If I'd done poorly the same bottle of Saki would have been for commiseration. ;) I have little ceramic cups for you all. *pours* *turns up the music*


ETA: To the person who asked which I preferred, the really killer hard Sanskrit or the awful Creative Writing class.

I feel like I learned something in Sanskrit, like I just had a good workout and yes, it hurts, I still ache, but in that satisfying "muscle burn" sort of way. The Creative Writing class has left a bad taste in my mouth and made it harder for me to write even fanfic right now. Even if I knew in advance that I'd get a 3.2 in Sanskrit I'd still take it, while I wish I'd dropped that Creative Writing class.

Holiday wrapping

I'm looking at a sea of presents. A big green box with gold ribbon that has wildernessguru dying of curiosity.

"It's something I've wanted to get you for years," I told him.

"A blow-up doll?"

I should keep him guessing just to see how weird these get.

There's a little oblong thing-y with curved edges in gold wrap and burgundy ribbon with Indian edging. Then there's the silver soft package with the puff of blue snowflake ribbon. I told him I bought this from a head shop but he'll never guess what it is. I'm evil. But his eyes are shining like a little kid's.

Then there's a big bowl-shaped thing in old-fashioned rose paper with a red card. Inside is rose petal jam, an elegant flavored vinegar, and another unusual jam. Beside it's a gold box with a black-and-gold lid in a floral pattern with stars, unfinished. Inside, little jars of Mt. St. Helen's honey nestled in red tissue paper. The salesclerk was wonderful when she learned WG's mom was coming out of chemo, "I'm so glad you told me" and recommended specific types of honey that had more vitamins. The man with the jellies was also solicitous and eager to help.

I'll have to tell WG's mom what great service we got, thanks to her. She'll be amused.

There's the stack of red-green-green-red flat objects all tied together with sparkle ribbon: the coolest balsa wood peacock you put together and paint, with a set of 25 multi-colored sharpies and colored paper. That's for WG's artistic little niece.

Beyond that's an ugly breadbox shaped package in shiny green and gold for WG's brother.

Then there are the unwrapped presents. The copy of Bill Clinton's My Life for WG's die-hard Republican dad. The cookbook and cookies for WG's niece. The gloves and "Gu" in "chocolate outrage!" flavor for WG's ski-boarding nephew. The gift-basket I shrink-wrapped myself with a hair dryer for WG's sister -- what do you do with the fluff of remaining wrap?

WG went all out. Okay. He handed me money and I went all out. Perfect combination though. He has cash. I have time. And as you've probably noted, he's also delegated the wrapping.

*Icarus passes out*