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hathycolMy exams are over. I would be jubilent but right now I just feel tired, headachey and a bit cheesed off because I have to go into work tomorrow after pimping myself to swap anyone for any shift. Bastards. I'm sorely tempted just to turn up and say "I told you I couldn't work Friday! Can I PLEASE go home?" and then hopefully go home. Maybe. I have an appointment to get my hair cut at 11am which I'm quite looking forward to, and then into Dundee for some well-deserved retail therapy and then go and get plastered in the evening. This is NO GOOD if I'm just shattered from work and can't go back to sleep due to exciting hair cutting and wanting to keep my bonce looking nice. OH THE TRAUMAS. I do need the money though.
My tutor was there for the exam. He cheerfully informed me that he was looking forward to seeing me in his special subject, which I had once expressed an interest in. I'm not sure if he was being heartily sarcastic or in fact did not despise me as much as he did and it was all a cunning act. He missed his calling in drama if the latter is the case. I'm sure he must despise me, given I flew at him demanding to know why the last question was such a bitch. ("Is the self-absorption of Pepys the reason why his Diary is such a valuable historical resource?" Fucked if I know was roughly mr answer, spread out over florid terms and four pages) but told him that I let him off because the rest of the exam was pretty good. Actually, it was; other than that horrible thematic question, I did one good gobbet, one passable one, and a fairly blinding essay on the subject of Pepys's personal religion. If I say so myself. Which I do.
But there we are. It's all over now, so I just have to drink lots of wine and wait for the results. I'm a bit shell-shocked, actually - what on earth do I have to do with myself now? I was watching Hollyoaks and feeling guilty until I realised that, in fact, I could watch as much Hollyoaks as I wanted. Oh my.
My tutor was there for the exam. He cheerfully informed me that he was looking forward to seeing me in his special subject, which I had once expressed an interest in. I'm not sure if he was being heartily sarcastic or in fact did not despise me as much as he did and it was all a cunning act. He missed his calling in drama if the latter is the case. I'm sure he must despise me, given I flew at him demanding to know why the last question was such a bitch. ("Is the self-absorption of Pepys the reason why his Diary is such a valuable historical resource?" Fucked if I know was roughly mr answer, spread out over florid terms and four pages) but told him that I let him off because the rest of the exam was pretty good. Actually, it was; other than that horrible thematic question, I did one good gobbet, one passable one, and a fairly blinding essay on the subject of Pepys's personal religion. If I say so myself. Which I do.
But there we are. It's all over now, so I just have to drink lots of wine and wait for the results. I'm a bit shell-shocked, actually - what on earth do I have to do with myself now? I was watching Hollyoaks and feeling guilty until I realised that, in fact, I could watch as much Hollyoaks as I wanted. Oh my.
