The bitter ache of small victories

Before I took the GRE on Friday, K and I predefined success as "meeting or exceeding my 1993 scores," in an attempt to obviate exactly the sort of post hoc analysis in which I am now engaging. Just to be safe, we also defined a redline: "cancel scores on suspicion of scoring below 600 quantitative" -- yes, I was that concerned.

By these criteria, my test results are an unqualified success.
And yet...

Well, the thing is, my practice tests were all over the map: a 100-point spread in math, and a 50-point spread in verbal (capped by bumping against the ceiling). So, while I feared the 600 quant score, I certainly had reason to hope for a perfect verbal performance and a much-improved math one, and that, quite simply, didn't happen. But yes, I beat the old scores. By a smidgen.

I don't have the analytical scores yet, but I was adequately satisfied with my performance at the time. Italophile and I had scornfully noted that the sample scoring guidelines seemed to favor bombast, so I ran the mixture a little rich. Threw some gratuitous Shakespeare at 'em (which, at least according to the laws of my universe, entails they'll all kowtow). We'll see.

If you're thinking of taking the GRE, do as I didn't, and invest in the commercial practice programs that use a computer-adaptive question set, especially if you think you might score near 800 on one or both sections. Used to whipping through the pen-and-paper verbal section in ten minutes without breaking a sweat, I was completely unprepared when the computer-adaptive real test quickly determined it should lob nothing but its "ambiguity special reserve" questions at me, which bollixed up my unpracticed time-management techniques, led to panic, and cost me my secret goal.

All of which is snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. My scores, while not shimmering things of gossamer beauty, are above the median for all the programs I might apply to. For that matter, a professor I know from a previous lifetime today offered me on-the-spot admission to come work with him...in an outstanding department which, at first glance, unfortunately doesn't appear to otherwise be a very good fit for my interests. But I'm mulling -- I'm mulling furiously. And with the deadline around the corner, I'm introspecting as fast as I can.