The night before the finals, I had some vague intention of cramming, but, God, where did I start? I picked up a copy of The Complete Works of Shakespeare and then put it down again, feeling jumpy and sick and unable to remember what happened in Timon of Athens.
Fuck.
I was going to fail. Which was basically the same as failing life.
And I could have avoided it at any point if I’d just done some work.
At Beny's prompting, I’d gone to the Careers Service a couple of days ago, where I’d read a lot of leaflets that had essentially confirmed I was unqualified for everything.
I’d also spoken to a nice lady, who was apparently a career advisor, but since my opening line had been “Hello, I’d like a career, please,” she hadn’t really been able to do much advising. She suggested I put togethe
