Learning point of the last few days: whoever came up with the immortal “Make love, not war” may have been drawing a false dichotomy
Anyway, it seems all the rage these days to have utterly belated nightmares about the A Levels, so I was rather pleased with myself (after the initial scare and subsequent short-lived disillusionment with paper qualifications) when I finally managed to procure one for myself. In my sleep I had hazily drifted into A Level territory, with impending papers and a realisation that I hadn’t studied since Prelims. Math was tomorrow, I think – I was good at math and I was pretty sure I remembered everything. That paper passed uneventfully, or else I just forgot that part of the dream.
The day after math, however, was I Hist. A quick mental inventory ascertained that I remembered next to nothing about I Hist, except a passing memory of Iranian shahs (ironic since I didn’t even study Religious Fundamentalism). I think after some dreamtime I managed to convince myself that everything was smokable. On the morning of the exam however, the car ride took forever and it was becoming clear that I was late – I arrived in the school carpark at 10:30 when the exam had started at 10, having spent the last half hour persuading myself that university and qualifications were useless. Tried to rush to arbitrary exam venue but the carpark had morphed into conglomerate of dried goods in boxes, stacked up like a mountain. It was useless trying to climb down by this point, crippled by despondence, vertigo, and shockingly profound ignorance of all things historical.
I woke up at this point needing to pee. It was all a dream.