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When I was in secondary school I didn’t really enjoy myself very much. A lot of the time I was disinterested in what I was studying and felt pushed to work. I was pushed to work; I had to be. I had no motivation. I was constantly nervous and on edge because I knew, or at least felt, that I was not doing as well as the other boys. Very infrequently did I have confidence or pride in my work.

When I knew this, when I felt I was doing something wrong or not doing it right I would get a ill feeling in the pit of my stomach. This wasn’t a feeling of illness in the medical sense, but a general unease. I was on edge. I get this feeling still when watching suspense-filled movies. I’ve tried to watch the film Match Point twice without success. I can’t stand it.

It’s the feeling you get the morning before a major exam or test. You don’t trust yourself to eat because you’re too afraid.

I got this this evening. My day up until a couple of hours ago has been pretty great. I’ve done lots of reading, went and had coffee with friends and confirmed the result of my French language exam. I passed. I can’t tell you how happy that made me. It means, if nothing else I will have passed at least one exam this term. My politics classes written in French are perhaps another matter.

But my ill feeling came when I got a quick email from my landlord. He’s a pretty nice guy. We’ve had a little bit of minor friction but I have nothing to complain about really. What absolutely terrified me is that asked me:

Maybe I am wrong, but I think I did’t get the rent of January.

Oh. My. God.

I hadn’t been able to give it to him myself because I couldn’t get hold of him in late December. I always give him cash because of the crazy international banking transfer charges I’d have to pay if it were a direct account to account transfer. So there’s a bit of risk there. And I had to leave it with my housemate to give to him. She couldn’t even give it to him because she also had to leave the country for Christmas and couldn’t get hold of him.

So scared!

And then as I’m writing this, a response email from him comes in. He’d thought that was money for December.

Restart my heart now. I can breathe.