During exam season it’s always easy to feel as though life is being put on hold. Instead, it is replaced by a monotonous string of revision and sleep that grows so cyclical life becomes more of a recurring nightmare with nothing but brightly coded time tables and towering revision cards to keep you from waking up.
Consequently I find myself forever adding to a list of things to do ‘after’ exams; which, this year consists of mastering the impossible ‘F’ chord, pouring myself into Sims 3 and starting an appreciation society for elbows.
During the past month I have drunk enough energy drinks to give even the sturdiest cardiologist a heart attack. I have somehow managed to turn three essays across all of my subject exams into feminist rants where the paper became the victim of the only woman who, perhaps, shouldn’t have received the rights to wield a pen. I also befell a very Cinderella-esque situation with a doomed sock.
Clearly I’ve been keeping on top of my madness despite my nagging educational commitments!
As the examination season comes to it’s long overdue finale, my thoughts are left to fumble over the past few weeks. The exams themselves, of course, are only half the story as our fate now lies with a regiment of examiners armed with red Biros and those dreaded mark schemes.
A fate which clearly slipped my mind during a particular examination where I found myself insulting approximately 18% of the entire world’s population.
It was during a ‘General studies’ examination (an exam which is pretty much as the name suggests!) when I chose to answer a question regarding how families in the UK were changing as well as their economic/social consequences. I suppose saying I ‘chose’ to answer that question is a bit of an overstatement, I merely settled for it in the face of a different choice of question regarding organ transplants. Since my knowledge of transplants is neither ‘general’ nor specific, it wasn’t much of a contest!
As the invidulator declared that ‘we may now begin’, I started what began as a formal and punctual essay. But, as my argument developed and boredom struck, it wasn’t too long before my coherence turned to chaos. In fact, as soon as I began evaluating the negative ‘consequences’ of gay marriage my ranting took a turn for the personal. I began to recall all that the Catholic Church has spewed with regards to how same-sex marriage is harmful to society and (in my heated, flustered exam state) I may have directly scorned the Pope himself!
I debated crossing all of this out but in my head I figured that a little controversy may make my essay stand out a little in my favour, that is, only of course if my examiner isn’t a fan of the dear Pope.
So there you have it, if you want to potentially offend the person who has the power over your qualifications, insulting the Pope could be a good place to start. Ohhh, sometimes I wonder why I’m trusted with pens!
Today I found myself writing an essay. This exercise is not particularly unfamiliar to me, after all, I do pursue three subjects which almost exclusively rely upon the of churning out of endless sheets of endless script.
Unlike most of my essays, however, today I found myself (perhaps in my slowly-deteriorating sanity) creating a brand new word! Not even in the enlightenment of my own consciousness, I should say. Who knows, perhaps there is a small percentage of Shakespearian innovation (i.e. I can make up whatever the hell words I like) rattling around up there.
Although such an irrational idea seems more like just another side effect of my accumulating madness.
Instead I shall put it down to my unconscious laziness which led me to combine the words ‘with’ and ‘the’ into the portmanteau ‘withe’.
Not to be confused with the definition of a twig, (no, really…) ‘withe’ is, I have conjured, the defeatist way of writing ‘with the’.
So, for example, ‘Anna went to the dance withe handsome cheese sprayer’.
Perhaps a more appropriate title of this post would have been ‘how to alienate MY readers and YOUR friends’ but in the likelihood that ‘withe’ does not catch on, at least there is one thing that can be gained from this post: that ‘Cheese Sprayer’ is, I do not lie, an official profession!
And to think, people spend years training to be doctors and psychiatrists- they’re definitely missing a trick here!