After yesterday's ephemeral truce, the calculus fights back. As I stare blankly at the further calculus option in today's paper, a familiar feeling returns - utter confusion. Calculus proves a ruthless adversary and my head-scratching and quiet muttering of curses does nothing to deter it. Thankfully, I manage to calm down and emerge with at least some senses intact.
The rest of the paper isn't too bad. One trigonometry question is very manageable and the probability questions are reasonably straightforward. The problem with probability, however, is that the probability of any two people having the same answer afterwards is minuscule. Also, this year's question is very colourful, with lots of red, yellow and blue discs to be envisaged. All these primary colours are giving me a headache, so I move along to the vectors question. This year it contains a viciously aggressive sting in the tail which almost nobody can understand, let alone solve. The geometry questions seem okay, but very time-consuming and question 5 is standard enough, although my calculator gets very stressed and refuses to calculate the sine of one angle. Afterwards, everybody is intent on detailing every single answer they got, most of which seem very different to mine. I decide to blame my calculator.
By the first Irish paper, exam fatigue is setting in. Most people are too lethargic to care. It's unfortunate, but Irish seems to gain an unshakeable stigma in primary school. When we should be immersed in the language, instead we spend sunny afternoons reeling off verbs in the modh coinniollach and learning phrases for essays. Irish becomes less of a language and more of a symbol for awkward grammar and everything that is tedious about school. Consequently, barely a dozen people attempt the honours paper. The papers themselves are fair. The comprehensions in the higher level are reasonable enough although the topics for the debate question are a lot more approachable than those for the essay. Cumha (sadness), the title for the story section was an unusual word and may have as scared some people.
After the second comprehension, I am so listless that I can barely hold my pen. I trudge incredibly slowly through the essay, writing about a sentence per minute. The Leaving is beginning to feel like Last Rites more than a rite of passage. By the time the aural comes, I just want to go home. It seems to last forever. At first all we hear is static - the pause button is on. When it starts, the Donegal dialect is particularly difficult indeed. Overall, I just wish I could fast-forward this whole Leaving. Tomorrow may have come but it doesn't seem in any hurry to leave.
