When I wasn’t tearing my hair out about my rusted Swedish, I recuperated from a night on the town yesterday in our inimitable fashion; being despicably lazy around the house.
On Friday we had the exams for the units we did last term, and unlike the quiet convictions of my college days when I tended to know before-hand how I was going to do, this time I am unsure.
I am unsure because I haven’t figured out what people want from me, and I haven’t built up a mental profile of how these things are supposed to go. What I learned in the past years is that English exams are more about rote memorization than displaying understanding. You learn what people expect, and then work toward those expectations.
I have a hunch that university life is not going to be like that, and so my paper and my tests felt much more insecure… If that is the right word. So, for the first time in ages, I’m quite nervous about what my results will be. I keep thinking back to my first paper, where it came back with so much red I could paint the entire town in it.
With that backdrop, on Saturday Mark and I left our cavern and went about town like normal teenagers, and had a nice evening out with beer and friends and the inevitable Sunday lethargy. I wouldn’t call it a hang-over, because it was not that bad. It was just a lack of energy throughout the day.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that we emerged from that, and headed out to meet the Swedish bloke I talked about in my other post of today. I could, of course, excuse my rusted Swedish on fried brain cells from the night before.