I should probably be studying right now. Then again, maybe not. Since I started thinking about the looming exams, I've realised that there is no "right" or "wrong" way to study. If I find that I can only study effectively while hanging upside down in a shed, then so be it.

I personally don't go in for the idea of non-stop work. Apart from the fact that an uninterrupted stream of formulae, quotes and definitions has the same effect on my mind as a pneumatic drill, I've actually found that combining study with other activities, like music, reading, TV or sweeping the floor, makes me more likely to remember what I have learned.

It's not all that easy, however. Studying means changing your whole way of thinking. Words start to take on new and previously undiscovered meanings. I've started to learn the language of the tribe. CAO, UCAS, NG. "I don't understand you" in three different tongues. My facility with acronyms and excuses does not, however, prevent information overload. Was De Moivre a character in Hamlet or a mathematician? Who or what is Leabharcam? A hidden camera in a library? Is a Physics symbol or Prince's new name? Seven subjects start to merge after a while.

I've created my own study space in my bedroom. Books are everywhere. A jumbo pack of fountain-pen refills sits in the corner.

Even my choice of music reflects the work I'm doing. 98FM for an energy boost. Lyric FM for inspiration. Radio 1 to remind me that life outside the Leaving does indeed exist. My drumkit gets battered every now and again, usually after prolonged reading of Hamlet. This isn't what I thought I'd be doing just before I turned 18.

I wonder who came up with the idea of "The Exam". Was it an act of revenge on a cruel world? If I pause for a moment, however, I actually start to realise something strange and wonderful: it's not that bad at all. Yes, I start on June 7th, but I finish on June 23rd - 16 days and then no more Emma or Kavanagh.

Don't forget that we call it the Leaving for a good reason. I'm leaving my school of 300 students and going to a place called College where 10 times that number would be considered a small crowd. When you think that the Leaving Cert is just a passport-check for a land called the future, you start to feel a little more optimistic.

Yes, it may be boring and often quite difficult, but it's just one little part of my whole life, and I won't have to do it again. Ever.

At school, there is an amazing lack of urgency. We spend more time organising our graduation and preparing for concerts than thinking about the Seventh of June. However, there are some changes.

"German film" is no longer a euphemism for dodgy adult pictures. Satellite dishes and video recorders are being drafted in an effort to learn some new phrases.

The Simpsons have given way to "Die Simpsons" and Jerry Maguire now speaks with a German accent.

A veritable mountain of paper occupies our schoolbags. Most shockingly, even the most sceptical of us are becoming disciples of both Mystic Meg and Sigmund Freud. "Kinsella hasn't come up for a few years."

"Yes, but they know that we know that." "They might think that we think that they think . . . ." The truth is, we don't know what they think.

If we did, we'd be rich. There is some consolation in the fact that thousands of other people are doing the same thing all across the State. We're all in the same boat together.

We can't blame anyone else if it goes wrong. Even cash in brown envelopes won't help us now.

Have I enjoyed studying for the Leaving Cert?

I'll tell you in August.