The fate of my future rests in the hands of a soul-crushing test known as the Graduate Record Examination, or the GRE. My score can make or break what graduate schools will let me sit in their classrooms and earn a degree. I think this is absolute bull.

The GRE has become the scariest three-letter acronym to many undergrads (with the exception of an STD) because apparently, how well you do on the GRE correlates with how well you’ll do in grad school. It seems ridiculous to assume that a test based on nothing more than obscure vocabulary, tricky math and a couple of analytical essays can properly show how well a person will do in his or her advanced degree program.

Yeah, sitting at a computer for a few hours filling in bubbles will prove what a good grad student you’ll be.

Not only is the GRE completely arbitrary, it’s also taken over my life and squeezed all the fun out of it. Instead of spending my Saturday nights chugging beers (in a classy, lady-like fashion, of course), I’m confined to my dorm room studying. Instead of driving down to Bourbon to get a Lucky Dog and a bucket-sized mudslide daiquiri spur of the moment, I’m constantly trying to cram as much information into my pea-sized brain as fast I can. I sit at my desk, pouring over hundreds of pages and flashcards in a desperate attempt to remember what imbroglio and lugubrious mean, how to multiply fractions and what time the train from Boston will cross paths with the train from Chicago if one’s traveling at 55 mph, the other 40 mph and if both are made of chocolate.

But I’ll sum up my feelings for the GRE in three words: I don’t care.

I give off the illusion of caring by giving up my social life for a month, but the reality of the matter is that I know no matter how hard I study, it seems highly unlikely I can achieve a score that will get me into some of the more competitive schools I’m applying to.

Unfortunately, I am not blessed with good test-taking skills or a very high level of intelligence. There, I said it. I’m not the brightest bulb in the box, the sharpest tool in the shed, whatever.

I’m widely known for my clueless nature, my obliviousness and my complete lack of smartness. I’ve been known to walk by people without saying ‘Hi’ because I’m off in my own little world. People think I’m mean because I don’t say hi. People who don’t say hi and are mean don’t do well on the GRE. It’s a proven fact, I swear.

Perhaps the reason the GRE really terrifies me is because if I don’t do well it means one thing, the scariest thing out there: the real world. That’s right, the dreaded J-O-B.

I’m sure that this is a phase that all college seniors experience. We are terrified. We are almost at the end of our educational rope, and soon we will be thrust out into the real world to put that $100,000-plus degree to use. But many of us don’t want to leave the safe cocoon that is college. And who can blame us? We go to class for 15 hours a week and it’s considered a “full load.” We can show up for class drunk and no one cares. We get a week off for Mardi Gras. I’m going to have to be dragged out of Loyola after graduation, kicking and screaming.

So this is why the GRE scares me. I know no matter what I do or how I do, it’s going to end up screwing me over. I mean, it’s already robbed me of a social life and more than $150 of my not-so-hard-earned work study money. Now it can single-handedly keep me out of the grad school of my choice? It’s not fair. How can such a little test determine my future?

But I’ll keep chugging along (without the beers), hoping that if I study hard enough, I’ll do okay. After all, I may not be that smart, but I’m smarter than a lot of people out there. Like all those Republicans.

Whatever. Standardized testing can kiss my badunka. And I can always work at Chili’s.