I finished my Leaving Certificate on June 20th. I took one last look at my art exam, closed the door behind me and left the stress, worry and a huge pile of dog-eared textbooks behind me. Or so I thought. I now find, with hours to go until the results, that the pressure and anxiety don't leave. They hide out for a while, let you think they're gone, but in fact my Leaving Cert won't be over until I know what's on that little slip of paper tomorrow. I could pretend I don't care what I get, but the plain truth is, I would rather take Applied Snail Farming in college than repeat.

But at least I'll agree to open the envelope. Most of my friends, at this stage, fall into one of the following categories:

Those who don't ever want to open the envelope. Such specimens will not even be at home to receive their results; they will find something, anything, else to do. They will get someone else to open them, or they will guard them for days, unopened, and spit like a cat if anyone asks what they got.

Those who just forgot. Yeah, right.

Those who already know they have failed. This lot have been moaning since June and no one is listening anymore.

Those who think everything has been going so well, they must have failed. This is a condition caused by acute paranoia, teasing friends and the theory that nothing good ever lasts.

Your own results are not even the biggest problem. What is there to say to the people who actually did fail? What if your boyfriend did better than you, even though he left every exam an hour before you? Can you be delighted for him or will you scowl inwardly? What happens if your best friend, the one who taught you all the liver fluke you know, fails biology miserably? Do you sympathise and conceal the truth, or say: "Oh hard luck, but look, I got a B1!"

This weekend has not been the greatest either. Everywhere I look I see Elvis. I mean no disrespect, but I don't particularly want to hear Always On My Mind every time I turn on the radio. Let's just say it's a little close to the bone. I wish Elvis had died next weekend 20 years ago. It would have made things much more bearable. Of course, mooning over these things so close to Judgement Day is a waste of valuable pre-result celebrating time. And although therefore we didn't need any more reasons for festivities this weekend, an 18th birthday party was an added excuse to go mad before the inevitable.

To mature readers, I'm sure staying up all night watching useless videos, singing unintelligible songs and doing extremely silly things after coming back from a loud, kitschy nightclub sounds very adolescent and juvenile. I couldn't agree more. Especially when I remember people walking around wrapped up in red ribbon. Or 24 people squashed into a 16-seater minibus. Waking up was not pleasant. I've been told that reality bites, but I did not expect it to jump up and down in my upset stomach, singing: "Not too long now, Steph. You forgot all about your results last night, so I just thought I'd drop by and remind you!" I struggled out of my sleeping bag and made my way to the kitchen, from where came the aroma of coffee and strains of "You ain't nothing but a Hound Dog . . ."

"Yes," I thought, "I've always had an interest in snails . . ."

On Wednesday in Summer Times, Stephanie Mahon will write about how it was for her the day the Leaving Cert results were announced.