Psychic powers can have their uses

Exam Diary / Oisín O'Reilly: As I settled down to Minority Report and a Chinese takeaway last night I was never so happy to be lowbrow. Just like Tom Cruise's character in the movie I have correctly predicted the future and saved the day. I forecast Dickinson, Boland and Eliot and there they were.

My inner whoop of joy rang through the valleys of some other dimension where Eliot and Dickinson frolic in the sunshine while Boland, still of this world, corrects term papers in California. I'll have to whoop her an e-mail.

I learned yesterday just how infectious stress can be. After achieving Zen-like tranquillity last night, the red telephone rang at dusk. The worried voice of one of my more excitable friends came through - he'd lost his notes on Eliot and needed something to quake over for the remaining hours of Tuesday.

I grabbed what could be rescued from the pile of sticky plates and coffee spoons and ran to his aid. Instead of bringing him to my Happy Place, however, he managed to drag me into his Panic Room. By the time I got home my serenity was in tatters.

I went online for a bit of diversion and found my other mate, Shane, in the chat room, also railing like a manic street preacher. Was there nowhere to run from all this pessimism?

After a fitful sleep I rose at 7.30 and ate some burnt toast in petrified silence. I washed and gelled my hair in an attempt to regain control.

Upon reaching the exam hall I saw the gathering of gloomy expressions and knew I was not alone. Our level-headed superintendent sensed the mood and gathered us together for a pep talk. It was a great success.

I stopped worrying about the paper and shifted my focus to happier thoughts for about five minutes before the anxiety switch flipped again. Having had two cups of tea and a litre of water that morning I ran to the bathroom with minutes to spare but nothing happened. As I entered the exam hall visions of Ophelia floating in the water kept lapping into my thoughts.

We turned the papers over, holding our breaths. I launched into the comprehension section with its cringing inventory of meat products (putty-coloured sausages? Revolting). Then I chose to have a rant on the subject of "hopes for the next generation". I was in full flow about student union rights, ratemyteachers.ie and the unheard voice of the student when I realised that my bladder had caught up with my brain. At 11am I was the first student to go to the loo. How embarrassing.

Luckily the excursion didn't upset my stream of consciousness and I returned to my rant renewed. At 12.30 I emerged blinking into the sunlight, where my dad was waiting in the car. He whisked me away to chicken fajitas before I could catch the eye of another student and risk unsettling my precarious nirvana with postmortems.

The afternoon paper was the one that really worried me, but once I saw my three friends' names on the poetry section I knew everything would be all right. The examiners wanted my personal response to Dickinson and by gum they got it: her light and dark moods; how her abject despair is suddenly brightened by a flame of humour and then just as quickly darkens.

After that I produced a rather triumphant thesis on the similarities between Shakespeare and reality TV. I left the exam hall in much better form than I entered it.

Now, with my takeaway in hand and the midweek movie about to start, I feel sure I can get through this after all. My newfound psychic powers tell me that tomorrow's maths paper will be fair and that Irish will not defeat me. Oh, and something else is coming through - Tom Cruise will flex his jaw muscles bravely a total of 36 times in the next 90 minutes.

In interview with Louise Holden. Oisín is a student of Ashbourne Community College