The Fear..

Well my first essay for this course was finished, stamped and posted yesterday. I never feel the relief straight away, for a few days after the work is out of my hands the fear sets in. Did I answer the question, or did I meander off on some sort of irrelevant tangent? All those long words, did I use them (or spell them) correctly, or did I point out my ignorance in a most embarrassing way thus demonstrating that I have been bluffing all along and have no literary ability whatsoever? Coming to think of it, did I commit the worst faux pas ever by spelling the author’s name wrong? (It’s Jane Austin right?) And to top it all off, will our postal service deliver the thing in one piece? (Don’t even think about it oh post person, for I have a certificate of posting)
I know what you are thinking, as an older student I am supposed to have more of a grip, I am supposed to see the whole thing in perspective, there is more to life than having a couple of letters after your name. Yet I feel that having been a drop out the first time round, as I get older it becomes more important to me, I have more to prove and more to lose. I think of the wage I have taken away from my family, all that barking, ‘Not right now I’m studying.’ It has to come to something.
So all this navel gazing goes on for a few days, and I can bet my left arm (for I am left-handed) that at least one person (usually me) will turn round and say in a cheery voice, ‘No point in worrying! Not a lot you can do about it now!’ without realising that this is the exact reason I am worrying in the first place because there is nothing I can do about it now.
After a few days I usually find something else to occupy my thoughts (I hear Zola is not bad) and I put it to the back of my mind. Then, in few weeks time something drops though the letterbox and I know that my blood, sweat and tears have been returned to me in an envelope with a grade scrawled on the front. Then the fear returns again.