So apparently it’s a Saturday. I was not aware of this.
There’s no way to mark the passing of time in the library, you see. I’ve been here for what feels like weeks, but it could just be a matter of days. Hours, maybe. I know time has passed, because the security guards in the porters’ lodge have changed over. The windows in this room are frosted. Most other students have finished exams now. There's almost no-one else here. It's a surprise to pass someone in the corridor. We all wear the same expression. We're all in this together. What’s the weather like? It was raining when I arrived. Maybe it isn’t now. The rest of London could be wiped out in some kind of zombie apocalypse, and I wouldn’t know until I went foraging for a cup of tea. I feel like Steve McQueen in the Great Escape. The Cooler Queen.
These days, I find joy only in the discreet flouting of library rules through the medium of chocolate-coated raisins. The thrill of knowing I could be thrown out if I’m caught eating in here is what keeps me alive. I’ve managed much bigger feats before – pots of pasta, baguettes, thermos flasks of tea – but there’s something pleasant about the steady, raisin-by-raisin disregard for the regulations.
It’s the home stretch now. My final exam is next Wednesday and it’s the one I’m dreading the most. I’m undertaking the risky venture of Tactical Revision; there’s no way I’m going to be able to understand and learn the entire syllabus, so over this week I’ve been attempting to process some of the major topics. So far, I reckon I could tackle three. Out of sixteen. Too few. Far too few. So here I am again.
Just better make sure I don’t completely lose track of time and miss the exam…