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It's Pedar's birthday today. I suspect he may be slightly depressed because of it. I happened to mention it's a particularly significant birthday, as birthdays go, which didn't help much. More amusingly, somehow or other his nurses and secreataries found out and gave him a cake. Actually they gave him three. Two of them went straight back to the nurses, with his protests, but he brought the third one for me. Even more amusingly still, they wrote it down on the clinic whiteboard and every patient he saw wished him a happy birthday. He told me all this over the phone in tones of deep disgruntlement, but I know he's happy about it, really.
My day was less humorous. Last night, before I went to bed, Pedar said, "You will remember to go to school tomorrow, right?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
I see no reason for this doubt. I got up this morning and went to school. I got in about half eleven, and the library was mostly quiet, so I sorted out some more books to give back and busied myself by writing notes to go along with them for my various teachers. When I got back into the library, I was stopped by one of the Lower Sixth drama groups. They have lessons in the library when exams are going on, so I'm used to them (and did say last year that I'm sure I've eavesdropped on enough lessons to pass AS Theatre Studies) but they've never paid any attention to me before.
Turns out they were responsible for judging that original short fiction competition at Easter. Which I have won. This makes me very happy, but bemuses me slightly. They were very sweet in their praise (Mrs Dalton told me it was a superb piece of writing, which introduced the squee factor) but I certainly never expected to win it.
The story in question I have never posted here, in case they were googling for plagiarists, but I may well do so on. Well, well; if a lesbian love story can win a competition without raising comment, there is hope for the world.
Sarah appeared a moment later, getting ready for Advanced Extension Physics (urrrrrgh), and we went to lunch. It was a sandwich lunch, as tomorrow is workshop day or something (or something; I didn't even know today was Juliet Day), and we took the food back to the common room as the last time as the rain came down. It was quite surreal; bright sunshine then violent sheets of rain, that were again beginning to dry out by the time we went to get registered.
The exams have moved out of the hall. We were in ML4, which was my formroom in Upper Five, and it was a bit claustrophobic throughout the exam. Today was Politics synoptic, and I picked the Participation and Representation question, writing for five sides about elected power being the preserve of the few, and then another four sides about the difference between policies and leaders. I was tired by the end, curiously disembodied, and the feeling hasn't gone away since. I left at the end, with a wave for Sarah which I don't think she saw (she had another hour of Physics at that point) and went back to the library, which at this point really was deserted.
I wanted to take a book out, and moved towards the computer and entered my number before I remembered, so I shut it down again and put the book back. I picked up my bag, and then Mr Evans came in. He's a little peeved that he taught Power so thoroughly and everyone did Participation (Miss Hathaway, on the other hand, kept on giggling about it and subtly winding him up, which she must be the world expert at doing by now) and he asked how it went, what I wrote, so on and so forth.
And then he asked if I'd be back for Prizegiving. I said I hadn't thought about it, but maybe. And then he said have a good summer, with the added subtext of, you know, have a good life... and I picked up my bag again and swiped myself out.
I think it might be fitting that in the end I just crept away, quietly and without fuss. I got home about an hour ago, and have been wondering ever since what to do with the rest of my life.
I am happy, for the record, that it's over; it's just a feeling that a weight's been taken from my shoulders, but nothing's been put in its place. It's all in the hands of a higher power now whether or not I make it to Oxford, and in the meantime there are three months of hot, stormy, wet British summer in front of me, and nothing much else besides.
My day was less humorous. Last night, before I went to bed, Pedar said, "You will remember to go to school tomorrow, right?"
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
I see no reason for this doubt. I got up this morning and went to school. I got in about half eleven, and the library was mostly quiet, so I sorted out some more books to give back and busied myself by writing notes to go along with them for my various teachers. When I got back into the library, I was stopped by one of the Lower Sixth drama groups. They have lessons in the library when exams are going on, so I'm used to them (and did say last year that I'm sure I've eavesdropped on enough lessons to pass AS Theatre Studies) but they've never paid any attention to me before.
Turns out they were responsible for judging that original short fiction competition at Easter. Which I have won. This makes me very happy, but bemuses me slightly. They were very sweet in their praise (Mrs Dalton told me it was a superb piece of writing, which introduced the squee factor) but I certainly never expected to win it.
The story in question I have never posted here, in case they were googling for plagiarists, but I may well do so on. Well, well; if a lesbian love story can win a competition without raising comment, there is hope for the world.
Sarah appeared a moment later, getting ready for Advanced Extension Physics (urrrrrgh), and we went to lunch. It was a sandwich lunch, as tomorrow is workshop day or something (or something; I didn't even know today was Juliet Day), and we took the food back to the common room as the last time as the rain came down. It was quite surreal; bright sunshine then violent sheets of rain, that were again beginning to dry out by the time we went to get registered.
The exams have moved out of the hall. We were in ML4, which was my formroom in Upper Five, and it was a bit claustrophobic throughout the exam. Today was Politics synoptic, and I picked the Participation and Representation question, writing for five sides about elected power being the preserve of the few, and then another four sides about the difference between policies and leaders. I was tired by the end, curiously disembodied, and the feeling hasn't gone away since. I left at the end, with a wave for Sarah which I don't think she saw (she had another hour of Physics at that point) and went back to the library, which at this point really was deserted.
I wanted to take a book out, and moved towards the computer and entered my number before I remembered, so I shut it down again and put the book back. I picked up my bag, and then Mr Evans came in. He's a little peeved that he taught Power so thoroughly and everyone did Participation (Miss Hathaway, on the other hand, kept on giggling about it and subtly winding him up, which she must be the world expert at doing by now) and he asked how it went, what I wrote, so on and so forth.
And then he asked if I'd be back for Prizegiving. I said I hadn't thought about it, but maybe. And then he said have a good summer, with the added subtext of, you know, have a good life... and I picked up my bag again and swiped myself out.
I think it might be fitting that in the end I just crept away, quietly and without fuss. I got home about an hour ago, and have been wondering ever since what to do with the rest of my life.
I am happy, for the record, that it's over; it's just a feeling that a weight's been taken from my shoulders, but nothing's been put in its place. It's all in the hands of a higher power now whether or not I make it to Oxford, and in the meantime there are three months of hot, stormy, wet British summer in front of me, and nothing much else besides.
