Today we enter the endgame. Today I discover whether or not I have passed the third year, in which case I graduate in September, or else I have failed, in which case all of my carefully laid plans are thrown to the four winds.
I should hope that, considering the number of assessments taken out on my work, were I failing I would have been told long ago. That I haven't looks promising.
I am entering that mental phase I was in this time last year- swinging wildly between between optimism and pessimism, a state that alcohol couldn't blunt. One hour, twenty-four minutes seperate me from the knowledge of what the coming year has in store for me, be it work experience or University.
I should have passed. The previous two years I have a run a 2:2 (last year very nearly a 2:1). If I can get a 2:1 this year I may be able to go to Oxford. If I get a 2:2, yes I'll be pleased I've passed, but within days a feeling of abject failure will come over me.
Pray God, I get a 2:1?
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