The Oxford Student - Official Student Newspaper

Diary of a finalist

Fuck. Panic attack. Breathing suddenly patchy as I realise that I don't possibly have time, that everyone else has done more than me, and that I'm going to fail, have done already, there's no point. Needless to say this, combined with imminent tears, means that my revision becomes significantly less effective than it should be. I walk/run out of the library (where else would I be?) and lock myself in a cubicle in the Ladies. Breathe in, breathe out, remember the unconditional offer for a postgrad course. Repeat. Comfort myself yet further with the certain fact that Finals may be many things, but they're certainly not worth ruining your eye make up for.  Fragile, but better, I leave the Ladies and return to Dunleavy's Bureau Shaping model. Enough to send anyone over the edge, I'm sure you'll agree. Yes, my friends, they're close now. As I write, I am hours away from my first paper. By the time you read this, I will have sat three or four of the bloody things - nearly halfway through and presumably almost used to them. At this late stage, seeing your friends hardly even happens. Someone I usually talk to for hours every week is reduced to a six-minute phone conversation. Strange that I appreciate this brief mutual panic, lying on the stairs outside the PPE reading room talking to him as he goes to buy his dinner, more than I might have done a night out four months ago. We agree we'll bump into each other in Schools, or meet each other outside our last exams. By the end of the week, I rather miss the panic. I'm just tired now. I've been working so hard for so long (okay, not for as long as I should have, but you get the picture), not getting quite enough sleep, nor quite enough time off, that I'm just exhausted. I can't be bothered to finish topics, to get out of bed. And it's not just the revising - the faffing! Sorting out sub fusc, buying carnations, checking we have food in. Buying Rescue Remedy by the gallon and sorting out repeat prescriptions. I'm so tired I've turned lightweight - two drinks and I'm asleep on the nearest soft-looking sofa/bed/bit of floor/person....