Exam Diary/ Séamus Conboy: Last night I had my final meal before the Leaving. I watched a final episode of The Simpsons before the Leaving. I fought with my brothers for the last time before the Leaving . . .

You get the idea. Every strand of my being is zeroed in on this point: Wednesday, 9.30, English, paper one. I feel like a condemned man.

These are my last words before the axe falls. Actually, these are the first of thousands of words I will write over the next two weeks.

With all the heavy brain work of the last few months, I'd forgotten the sheer scale of the physical challenge ahead.

That's why I've been out in the garden pucking a ball for hours on end, I tell my bewildered parents.

They're not so worried about how I spend my final hours, but they are concerned at the state of the garden wall. My tension is writ large all over it.

I wonder what the essay titles are going to be like. What can I possibly write about anyway?

What have I thought about, dreamed about and despaired over for months? Only the Leaving Cert.

I haven't read a paper in weeks. I haven't formulated an opinion on whether Patrick Kavanagh was a genius or a dreary old bore.

I may have to continue this exam diary in the exam hall. I could just sit there and describe my surroundings, the facial expressions of other students and the inner workings of my brain.

How surreal for the corrector that would be! How like Beckett! They'd have to throw a few marks my way for that.

I'd like to say my devoted parents have been fussing over me, tending to my every whim, massaging my temples and such.

They, have in fact, been away for the weekend.

What a time to have a free house! Very cunning on their part.

They knew that, of all the weekends in my life, this was the one to leave me to my own devices.

Even if I did, in a fit of madness, decide to have a party - who'd come?

I'm finding it extremely difficult to see beyond these exams but I know there's a summer of fun and sun ahead so I'm living on that.

I'm heading off on a boat for a few weeks this summer.

The rest of the gang are going to Greece for the usual post-Leaving shenanigans but I fancy something a bit more rugged.

I stopped into some local pubs on my way home from school the other day and asked for a job to fund my playboy plans.

I figured I might steal a march on all those other Leaving Cert students with too much on their minds to think about summer jobs.

They weren't looking for anyone round my way. Wonder who's making the tea in the Irish Times these days?

Last night, I tried to wind down a bit before the madness.

I talked to my family about important global issues and local politics over a brain-friendly meal of mackerel and walnuts.

I went for a brisk walk, returning to a warm bath of rosemary (to aid memory) and lavender oil (to promote relaxation). I was tucked up in my bed by 10 p.m. after a little whale music.

Okay, that's not quite true. I ate chicken and stuffing in front of the telly until I fell asleep in the chair around midnight.

This morning, I worked out the last of my aggression with a hurley in our devastated garden. Cometh the hour, cometh the man.

• Séamus Conboy is a student at Scoil Caitriona, Glasnevin