Morgan Begg

At last, the year 11 yearly exams have drawn to a close.

The past few weeks have been a visit to hell for myself and my peers.
Too much coffee combined with too much information. We cannot hear the words ‘memorise’ or ‘practice essay’ without morphing into rabie-infested pitbulls. Our writing hands have gained pleasant little callouses and blisters: marks of our frantic attempt to write 5 pages in 40 minutes. We have dealt with our stress by eating our body weight in corn chips, sandwiches, chocolate and one too many mexican pies…but you could figure that out just by looking at us. The last hundred MySpace comments we have made make reference to how much we are loathing exams, how much we want to commit sui, and how much saturated fat we have consumed that day. Too many nights have been spent staying up until 2:30…not studying, but watching sneezing pandas and 90’s ABC Kids shows on YouTube. We were tired, cranky, paranoid, and extremely doffit.

Here are a few phrases uttered in the past few weeks which basically sum up the atmosphere of the exams.
SOPHIE: I’m going to stop eating…I say as I look into the fridge.

ME: I want Mrs Collins to give us our Pygmalion essays back.
ELLIE: Oh my god Morgan.

ELLIE: The rule is to not talk about the exam.
US:Okay.
ELLIE: Oh the question about the eggshells…

CHESTER: I’m gonna get get get you drunk…

EVERYONE: It’s only year 11.

But now it’s the holidays. The next two weeks will undoubtedly be filled with shitty late night MTV at Ellies, picnics at Pass beach, drunken festivities at Chesters, blurry sunshine filled mornings at Sophies, op shopping, sleeping in, beach walks and doing absolutely nothing.
Sigh.