I promised myself I’d go to bed early tonight. I swore I’d be in bed by nine and asleep by ten. Yet here I am, once again, going back and forth between Twitter and Facebook, watching rubbish on RTE Player, before finally deciding a blog post is a good idea.
I’m wrecked. Exhausted. Drained. I could go on, but I’m sure you get my drift. Oral fever has hit the school and it’s spreading faster than the swine flu did, only it’s worse, because those hand gel dispensers around the building have no power over this epidemic.
On Monday morning we met Eibhlín, the examiner. She seemed nice, putting us all at ease and making us think that all we need to learn is ‘Mo Theaghlach agus Mo Chaithimh Aimsire’. That may be the case, but knowing me I’ll end up digging myself into various holes and going off on multiple tangents because, stupidly, I’d rather force my opinions down someone’s throat instead of twisting every topic and relating it back to the economy which I could talk about forever. God forbid I should actually utilise some effective exam technique.
You can feel it, though. You can feel the air of slight panic blended together with a nice touch of tension that is so unique to the fortnight of the orals. The signs are up near the rooms where they’re on, instructing students to take a different route, avoid going to the office, and to just shut up in general. Leaving Cert students wander around aimlessly, Irish notes in hand, obsessively consulting The List in order to see how long is left until D-Day. Some teachers attempt to get a bit of work done, while others resign themselves to the fact that it’s Irish and Irish only on the brain and allow us chat away to practice the cúpla focal.
Each day I say to myself that today’s the day I’ll learn the Irish stuff properly. That day has yet to arrive though. I have the notes written out and all put together with one of those nice binder clip things – y’know the black ones that look like they’d be used to keep a manuscript for a book together. I attempt to talk to myself. I blab on about country vs city living, school, my family, last summer, next summer, last weekend, next weekend, music, what I’d do if I won the lotto, if I was Taoiseach, if I didn’t get the points… the list goes on.
Now it’s half eleven, and my eyes probably want me to stop looking at this stupid screen and allow them to close. So I think I’ll probably grant them, and myself, that luxury. Tomorrow’s my last day of learning how to talk in Irish about hypothetical situations. Thursday’s D-Day for me. I might come back and let y’all know how I got on. Hopefully reports will be positive, although if you don’t see another post here between now an June, feel free to assume the worst.
Slán go fóill agus oíche mhaith..