A third year english student recently sat down with The Whip to give a candid interview about dealing with the pressures of work in final year.
Leila Johns, 21, broke down over how regimented her days had become with the threat of exam season breathing luridly down her clammy neck.
‘A typical day will go something like this’, she explained.
’07:00: wake up. Lie in bed and contemplate the futility of existence. Eat a soggy breakfast, shower, and get to the ASS by 8:30 to be greeted by the usual pallid, sad faces of my peers. Start work on my essay.
’10:00 take a break to cry hot, angry tears into the sink of the top floor toilets. This is the first of many such breaks. Glance at my swollen face in the mirror, and cry again in piteous self-loathing.
’11:30: usually by this point a few people will be glancing at me, muttering to each other as I manically sift through my 200 pages of handwritten notes. I will have spent at least 45 minutes staring at the Mail Online, and will be consumed by rage about Tristan Thompson’s latest sexting scandal.
’13:30: lunch; the highlight of my day. A small, sad group of us will sit in the ASS cafe and talk about how little work we’ve done. The phrase ‘I just can’t’ gets bandied about a lot. We might have a fag outside in silence, reflecting on the misery of our lives.
’14:30: work myself to the point of total self-annihilation.
’17:00: More work. More tears. A lot of yogic breathing to retain composure. Suck from the teat of despair.
’18:00: trudge home. Cook supper. Reminisce about the good old days when I didn’t have any work during the strikes. Maybe watch RuPaul’s Drag Race to cheer myself up, maybe just stare at a wall.
22:30: bed. Fitful sleep plagued by dreams of teeth falling out. Then I wake up and it. All. Starts. Again.’