Okay. I finally feel like talking about Wednesday.
The first big mistake I made was not getting enough sleep. I should have gotten more, but I stayed up thinking 'It'll be okay.' Trying to accomplish things when you're tired isn't okay, okay? I need to have that tattooed on the insides of my eyelids or something.
So I packed my bag and left with Mum sometime around midday. I already knew I was in the shit. I hadn't studied and I hadn't slept. I didn't know shit about the subject even though I'd worked my arse off during the term. On the way to Hamilton I told Mum about the last real exam I'd been in, back in 1998. That'd been for first year Japanese at Ballarat Uni and I'd scored top of the class. There'd been a shitload to memorise there, all of which has since been forgotten, but I found it much easier than maths.
The trip was hellish. I'm turning into an anxiety wreck. Every time a car came toward us I could feel the panic rising. It's not quiet as bad as how I used to be afraid my leg-bones would shatter if I hit my feet too hard against cement while walking, but that was never really a serious fear. Just something I wondered about now and then.
Mum doesn't make it any easier. She's only small and can barely keep the old vanilla steering under control. And she's blind in one eye. Yet she insists on steering with one hand resting on the bottom of the wheel, and looking at me when she says something. I can't nag at her about it because she's doing me a favor and driving me around, but watching her doesn't help the nerves. I think it's because I don't drive that I sit there thinking 'this could get us fucking killed' instead of just accepting we're going to get to our destination eventually.
When we got there we went to a coffee shop, then I wandered around looking at a coupla bookstores. I found the new Iain Banks book, which I have since read and it was pretty good. After wasting enough time I went to the exam.
The staff there were very casual about it all, which eased me a little. I was the only one taking it, so they gave me a small meeting room and left me alone. After reading the questions I nearly stood up and walked out. I knew I had no hope of passing the exam. But I sat there and did it. Something's changed. Not many years ago I would've left, but I did the exam even though I knew it was futile.
One of the things I kept thinking that was there was no way I could've avoided the situation I was in. I'd studied the crap fucking hard. I hadn't had a real choice in the courses I could've taken, maths was it. It was the only unit running at my level for that study period, and I had to do something.
I did get some questions right, shocking myself that I even got them, but it wasn't enough. I've failed and I know it. Yet if things work out the way I'd like on Monday, it might not even matter.
I left the exam half an hour early. After three hours of sitting the humiliation was too much. It hurt watching them parcel up my failure to be marked at Monash. Mum showed up and I read the Banks book in the car. Like I said, it was really good, really funny, and it did make me feel a bit better.