Yeah, me again. If you weren't already aware I haven't really been using this blog for quite a while now. Purely because Twitter has fulfilled my need to spout shite quite satisfactorily. In fact, you were probably directed to this blog from a tweet of mine. Instead of abandoning the blog entirely, I have concluded to use it as a platform for any ideas of mine that exceed 140 characters. Frankly, that isn't very often, so savour this.
In two days time the A-level, or in my case AS-level results are revealed. Not only will they decide whether I ever have to do any RS work ever again (it's quite catch-22; do too badly and I may have to retake, do better in it than another subject and I would be inclined to carry it on), but will also (less importantly) dictate which universities I can and can't apply to. As I've always said, I don't really see the point of going to university if it isn't a good one. I've already got a rough idea of the outcomes of each possible grade combination. AAAA; this. AAAB; not going to argue with that. AABB; no Cambridge for me, but who cares, they're all probably posh sods anyway. Interestingly I won't think that if I do get the required grades. ABBB or BBBB; off to Southampton for me then. Anything lower and I'll go and do BTEC Bricklaying; i.e, it's not going to happen. So essentially, it's all kind of a big deal.
Yet despite this, in the days leading up the big reveal, an odd calmness has descended upon me. Transcending the potential severity of the situation in its influence on my future fortunes, I've reached a point in my catastrophising where I can't physically comprehend the fact that the grades will actually appear on the paper. To put it in a way less mental, I don't see myself getting what I want, nor do I see myself getting a nasty shock. In the cerebral process the two cancel each other out. Put simply, I have no preconception of how it's going to go, nor is it apparent that a preconception need be necessary, useful or possible. To further simplify, I have no idea what to expect. Thus, in the preceding days I've begun not to worry (which has come about largely naturally, notably), instead becoming inclined to revel in this aforementioned vacuum of expectation. I'm considerably better prepared for if my results are what I expect (I haven't really looked at any Universities outside of the Russell Group, the twattish snob I am), but even if I do succeed, further challenges will arise in maintaining those grades over the next year and applying to these ruddy University things. Before I get my results I am free of obligation; I can't exactly do a lot in terms of research and preparation when it may soon transpire that a major rethink would be necessary.
So I've basically just been getting up late, playing a bit of Pikmin 3 (great game), reading a bit of Madame Bovary (great book), listening to some classic Hip-Hop albums (great musical genre) and watching Coronation Street (excellent television programme). It's the most chilled I've ever been. I'm practically horizontal. I look in the mirror and think, 'who's that chilled out cat?'. Well, I don't really, but I felt the point deserved embellishing. So what is my point in all this? I don't know, I suppose I just felt the need to document this rather tranquil little point in my life. Usually I'm pretty anti-anything remotely relaxing, with a tendency to label such things boring or unproductive, and up until recently I've felt a bit frustrated by the lack of structure a summer holiday brings. But right now, a rare moment indeed, I feel perfectly at ease with the concept of wallowing in my own crapulence. I don't even care that this is a pretty averagely written blog that only a few would read, and even fewer care about. Thursday, in all truthfulness, seems years away.
