(no subject)
AAAACK. Tomorrow morning is the first meeting of the medieval seminar at the university, and I am expected to show up and be introduced. I am fluctuating between denial and total anguish. ALL THE BRETON MEDIEVALISTS. And I have nothing to say to them right now because of the all-consuming vagueness of my ideas about my research. That, plus prof FM said that everyone sometimes goes out for lunch after these things, and if so that I would potentially be invited, and that, O readers, is what separates how I'm feeling from how normal people would be feeling in this somewhat nerve-wracking situation. WHAT IF THERE ARE NO VEGETARIAN OPTIONS? WHAT IF I HAVE TO CONFESS TO FRENCH PEOPLE THAT I'M VEGETARIAN AND THEN HAVE TO DRAW ATTENTION TO MYSELF BY TRYING TO ORDER SOMETHING SPECIAL!?? I guess it's time to see whether my commitment to being vegetarian is stronger than my fear of admitting to French people that by default I reject a keystone of their cuisine and therefore culture. ALSO, WHAT IF MY TABLE MANNERS ARE SHAMEFUL EATING IN PUBLIC IN SEMI-FORMAL AND PROFESSIONAL CONTEXTS IS HORRIFYING ENOUGH AAAAAAUGH!
If I die, at least I have like, three versions of health insurance and coverage for the repatriation of my body. Although maybe it would be better if I made like Dathan and Abiron in one of the more common liturgical curses to appear in Breton charters, and got swallowed alive by the earth. I'm not sure what they did to deserve it, but I have just under eleven hours left to figure it out and do it in order to bring Old-Testament divine wrath down upon myself.
But okay, it's time to stop nibbling at this giant serving of social anxiety cake with imposter-syndrome icing, and to go to bed and read entertaining things on my iPad. At least I've already decided what I'm going to wear, so I won't have to panic about that in the morning. Oh fuzzy difficult-green sweater, at least you're always there for me in these terrifying situations. And I shall wear my awesome TAKING FRANCE pants/slacks, and my bright pink-and-orange smartwool socks, and my scarf that everyone compliments, and at least I won't look like I don't know what I'm doing.
If I die, at least I have like, three versions of health insurance and coverage for the repatriation of my body. Although maybe it would be better if I made like Dathan and Abiron in one of the more common liturgical curses to appear in Breton charters, and got swallowed alive by the earth. I'm not sure what they did to deserve it, but I have just under eleven hours left to figure it out and do it in order to bring Old-Testament divine wrath down upon myself.
But okay, it's time to stop nibbling at this giant serving of social anxiety cake with imposter-syndrome icing, and to go to bed and read entertaining things on my iPad. At least I've already decided what I'm going to wear, so I won't have to panic about that in the morning. Oh fuzzy difficult-green sweater, at least you're always there for me in these terrifying situations. And I shall wear my awesome TAKING FRANCE pants/slacks, and my bright pink-and-orange smartwool socks, and my scarf that everyone compliments, and at least I won't look like I don't know what I'm doing.