And all our most brilliant friends are doubting themselves.

So. School has ended forever and we're on study leave from now until the end of eternity, which basically means that in the last week or so I have rewatched my entire DVD collection and made about 17 pointless trips to Tescos. And it also explains why i'm up right now, although it's not that insane as all the hours have sort of merged-revision limbo.

On the plus side I have been listening to a lot of really great music lately that I've been meaning to check out- The Radio Department, Kyte, The Volcano Choir... All great chilled out stuff which is good for soothing the poor confuzzled brain of an A2 Biology student (MASSIVE spotify love). AND I finally got round to deciding which uni to go to next year, so now I actually have somewhere to go in September. (Although, they're a bit optimistic with their entry requirements....)

I'm focusing on the fact that between me and uni, summer and festivals lay 6 exams. 6*. (No more, no less, no magic number and no unlucky for some).

But the real world is carrying on, and it's a bit of a bitch really because it keeps hitting everyone when they're down. And the nicest people, the strongest people, who have had it so crap for so long are getting it all again, and history is repeating itself. I'm just a spectator.

I'm more average than I'd like to think I am, but I'm finally appreciating this.

* A fact which my mother enjoys continually reminding me of. Today's fresh paranoia was over exam timings- a character in The Archers missed their exam because they thought it was in the afternoon not the morning, which obviously means I will make the exact same mistake.

This is not him- it must be the wrong room. I was not expecting to see this. A childish scared voice, a confused and muttered sentence, a scrawny face. But this is what I wanted ... 'One last time'. And I saw where he would go, and I saw who went before him. But this is not the man I knew, who gave me pink milk and pingu videos, and piggybacks. And I stand there, in the unfamiliar kitchen and I search through twenty mugs to find the lightest, so that it is easier for him to lift. Still his hand shakes and he looks at me blankly.

He has regressed, back to handled cups and liquid foods, and wide eyed fear at the world. Half formed words and missing teeth, it ends like it began, in a hospital bed surrounded by strangers.