It’s 2am. I can’t sleep. In six hours, I will find out what my results are. I have shattered the family rule of ‘No Dogs Upstairs’ and have smuggled Kya into bed with me, where she is now attempting to make me feel better by licking the keyboard.
The good news is that my best friend is also unable to sleep and we are messaging each other right now.
The bad news is that I have had stomach cramps since 6pm and vague flutterings of panic all day. The panic was not helped by the fact that I got into bed and was promptly attacked by a daddy-long-legs.
The dog has climbed out of my bed and run away. Clearly, I am emitting too many nerves for her liking.
The problem is not that I am not tired. I am very tired. I would like nothing better than to go to sleep. The problem is that every time I close my eyes, I am hit with a massive adrenaline rush, along with an annoying little mantra of ‘Results…Results…Results…Results’ and the song ‘It’s A Hard Knock Life’ from Annie.
*Belligerent mode: ON* Annie never had to worry about A Level results. *Belligerent mode: OFF*
I wonder how many other 17/18 year olds are lying in bed, wide awake, waiting for results. If any of you read this, good luck.
I’ve never had this problem in the past, because for GCSE results I was in France and didn’t really give a shit what they were. For AS results I was in France, and not expecting my mother to pick them up when she went home to deal with the death of my grandmother, therefore I didn’t have any anticipation.
My reaction to AS results was fairly tragic. As I recall, I stared at them for about 10 minutes while my parents told me the results weren’t good enough, before running away around the mountain and crying for an hour and a half. Unfortunately, I will not be on the side of a French hill with a population density of six people in the surrounding eleven kilometres. I will be in the centre of Cheltenham, surrounded by my peers and will have to make it through a ten mile car journey home before I can start having a meltdown.
I am going to go now, so I can lie in bed, feeling sick and fretting for the remaining five hours and forty-eight minutes before my life is over.
Five hours and forty-seven minutes.