Last night I was left unattended, mainly because I desperately need to be left to study for the exam I've already deferred once and am in no position to defer again. Any time I have between now and the week of the 7th of November should be spent head in book (or more often head in hands) desperately trying to cram in some information on the developing psychology of the human child. I've gone back to my college revision habit of writing lists and lists and lists of points, then summarising the lists I've written and then finally breaking it down into bullet points all the better to be stared at in disbelief outside the exam centre as they seem to contain only hieroglyphics and nothing of any actual concrete use. I'm beginning to think that maybe none of this stuff I've been staring at for the past two weeks has gone in, but then again I keep having strange dreams in which I'm lecturing various friends on various psychology topics, or better still, running experiments on rows and rows of babies design to investigate whether very young infants can understand the existence of objects.
So last night was another one in a long row of nights where I was doing the one thing I didn't want to do, being locked in my bedroom with books and a laptop, having deliberately shut myself off from the world of dvds, internets, digital radio stations and with just over a week to go for the exam I am so ill prepared for.
He Who Only... called me to say goodnight, and see how I got on. I said study had gone "well". That was a lie. What I should have said was, I emptied my school bag onto the floor, sat on the floor and looked at the book covers rather than the insides of the books, put on my Declan O'Rourke CD and had a grand old sing-along while walloping a red balloon off every wall of my bedroom and giggling. For an hour.