In just one week it will all be over. I will have completed my Open University nineteenth century novel exam.
This time next week I will either be celebrating because it went very well, and all the books I wanted to crop up on the exam paper did crop up, or I will be fretting that it’s all gone horribly wrong. Either way, it will be over. That will be a good thing.
I’m ready for finishing. This academic year has been difficult. I’ve lost my grandmother and grandfather, so found it tough to keep studying through very sad times. To be in a position to actually sit the exam is a miracle in itself and I am rather proud that I’ve got this far. I’d hoped to get a first class result. I know I won’t, but I’ve still done enough to keep the dream of a first class overall degree in sight. It just means more work in the next academic year. I don’t mind hard work at all. In fact, I’m looking forward to it already.
But what I do want is a summer of reading anything that I want. I don’t want my reading to be dictated by reading lists. I want to go into my reading room, or the library, or a bookshop and pick any book that takes my fancy. It’s this thought that is keeping me going.
There are so many books I would like to read, and so many things I’d like to blog about, but the whole exam thing has been holding me back. I daren’t venture outside of the nineteenth century.
Seven days, that’s all. Seven days then I’m free of all the exam worry. Seven days and I can sit back with a good book and relax.