Sunday, June 6, 1982
Suddenly it seems the ‘A’ levels are here: the first one is tomorrow. I haven’t revised hardly enough but I don’t even care. The last few weeks have gone quickly, so quickly that it doesn’t seem a moment ago since I was being told “you’ve still time left to work. . . .” I feel resigned to my fate. I know I'm on the brink of failure but at the moment I couldn't care less.
Lee’s problem last night has a lot to do with this feeling that he's wasted the last two years of his life by being a slob. I just wish it was all over.
In the Middle East fighting is now in its third day as Israeli tanks enter Lebanon. Robert and Carol left at dinnertime.
Gloom and steady torrential rain all afternoon, the rumble and crackle of thunder: occasional pink-blue sky flashes illuminate the page as I write. Floods in Whincliffe, someone dead after being struck by lightning. Depressing.
I made half hearted attempts to look over my notes but really it's too late now. I have a sort of deadened feeling when I think about how little I know; I can't remember the details of texts, plots, quotations. . . . I just have to hope for the best. Dad says he’s sure I’ll get through OK, but I wish I knew I would.