Author's note: here they are, as promised. More Chronicles of CSAP. Sorry, I like writing them, and they provide some much needed relief from the tedium of the testing itself. I doubt anyone's actually bothering to read these, but I don't care. For those of you who are reading them, thanks, and if you could spare a minute, a review would be nice! thanks!

Like Christmas, they only come once a year. However, there is no doubt that they are far less enjoyable than Christmas, or any other holiday, for that matter. In fact, there are few things less enjoyable than these. Yes, you guessed correctly. I do indeed speak of none other than the dreaded CSAP tests! Before I begin faithfully chronicling my experience on this, the first day of this year's tests, a little background for those of you lucky enough to never have had to take the horror known as CSAP.

CSAP stands, of course, for Colorado Student Assessment Program. Naturally, then, it takes place in our illustrious centennial state. The government has decreed that every student, starting in third grade and ending in tenth, must, for one week a year, sit and take these tests. Or, rather, these horrors. No, I am not exaggerating. CSAP is truly the most frightening event of the year, though not for the usual reasons. The tests themselves are pathetically easy, and that is the frightening part. Not only does the government think that all students are idiots, but this is the standard on which everyone is ranked and graded, and (and this is the best part) some people fail. I kid you not! Some students have been known to fail these blindingly simple evaluations. And that's not the worst part. Not only are the tests frighteningly simple, the teachers are required by law to read us the directions word for word at the beginning of each test. Woe on the educator who chooses to skip one set of directions, finding unnecessary, as all of us can recite the directions word for word. (You are now about to begin the [insert session here portion of the [insert test type here. Do not open your test books until instructed to do so. As you take this test, be sure to fill in every answer thoroughly and completely. You will not lose any points for guessing, so try to answer every question... [and so on.)

We did, however, manage to get through the reading of instructions with only minor mishaps (such as the proctor, who happens to be my social studies teacher, but that makes no difference, bursting into helpless hysterical laughter at the sheer stupidity of having to read the directions yetagain, and informing a room full of relatively intelligent students that when they came to a stop sign, they were to stop the test.) And then we began the first of three math tests. Yes, you heard correctly. I speak the truth. The first of three. Why they need to give us three tests on the same subject, I have no idea, but the creators of the tests, in their infinite wisdom, decreed that it must be so, and who am I but a lowly mortal to disagree with them? And so we began, desperately doing our best to dredge up what little we remembered about tangents and angles and areas. They would not allow us to use our calculators (even though I have a very nice TI-83 graphing calculator. His name is Jamie, and he can tell the future... but I digress...), so we had to struggle through the math by hand. (And allow me to assure you, finding the quotient of three to the fourth divided by three to the negative seventh by hand is not pleasant in the slightest. Even after I remembered that all I had to do was subtract the exponents.)

So we slogged on, completing the first test relatively quickly. It was during the second test (given to us after a mere five minute break, during which we were not even permitted to leave the room) that the true testing exhaustion set in at last. This is a common phenomenon, also known (by yours truly, at least) as the "testing reality check." It is during the second test of the day that your brain finally realizes that, not only is it being forced to dredge up useless knowledge in order to satisfy a pointless and useless standard, but it is also being deprived, not only of music, but of writing and peace of mind. As if in protest of this treatment, your brain shuts down and tells you that it will start working again the moment you feed it some Panic at the Disco (or any other good band.) Unfortunately, the creators of the tests have, for reasons best left unfathomed, banned all cell phones and ipods and other implements capable of providing the much needed relief. So one must simply promise one's brain music at a later time and beg it to start working again until that time. Some days this works better than others.

The third test was easier, as we (finally) got to use our calculators. I'm not saying that it was more fun, as being told to make graphs of numbers like 6.1 and 8.7 can never be "fun," but it was slightly more bearable. Only slightly, though. But we managed in the end, and I learned a number of important things, namely that I know over half of the students in my assigned CSAP classroom (it's alphabetical by last name), that I don't like a single one of them, that Stranger in a Strange Land is an odd book, and that I really should have brought something else. I'll remember that tomorrow.

And now I must leave, because it's getting late and this is long enough already. Hope you didn't kill too many brain cells reading this, and farewell until tomorrow, when you get to read about the joys of science testing. You can't wait, I'm sure.

Until then,
--yours truly