What it's like being me these days

About this time next week the uncertainty that plagues me now will be replaced by what I hope is a hand-cramping flurry of text messages celebrating my successful language test.  In the meantime, my task is have as little diarrhea as possible between now and then, a task I have been unfortunately sucking at since I scheduled my test Friday.  I am running myself into the ground with gut wrenching efficiency and it is not helping at all.  It is a 2 hour oral interview and I don't know what we'll be talking about among the dozens of potential conversation and presentation topics.  It's a fucking nightmare lottery.  Human Rights or Family in Society (what?!); Education or Globalization; Global Warming or Mass Media?  By the way, I wouldn't for a minute venture to give a presentation in English on any of those things, even if my audience had zero expertise in the subject.  I have at most 2 things to say about any given foreign policy topic and the first is usually to say I either don't know much or don't care about whatever we're talking about.  The funny thing is that unless you're a Public Affairs officer or designated spokesperson or analyst, most people in any line of work have very little to say publicly about anything at all and as a consequence I think most of us aren't even very prepared to offer unabridged versions of our thoughts in English.  Waxing philosophical aside, I've got to pull my head out of my ass and see if I can pull this out and move on to the next big thing to stress about.  Anticipation--absolutely the worst part.  I've said it before and I'll say it again, I hate making plans because this is what making plans does to my head.  

Surprise

Huge fan of surprises, not a big fan of people saying they are surprised when I do something that intimates their impression of me is less than stellar.  I realize my own negative self-press is partly if not largely to blame for this.  I'm also going to just put this out there for my single people (who may one day read this).  It is not fair to expect a single person to be more mobile or schedule flexible because they are single.  I'm not going to pretend to empathize with married/coupled life, especially with kids.  I haven't an ounce of authoritative perspective there.  But I do know this life and everything is mine to do. No one does taxes while I study or walks the dog while I make breakfast.  When I broke my ankle, I took my broken ass ankle for several walks with the dog because that shit (literally) still needed to be done.  When my back went out, I ate meds non-stop and literally whimpered with every step.  The thing I hate the most when I have visitors and they leave, is the break from 24/7 me and their help.  Something as simple as getting someone a glass of water or grabbing a ringing phone, that is so nice.  If you have someone, I hope they are at least doing that for you.

Authentically Sad

I have every reason suspect I'm not racing against a happy ending but there is a part of me that wants to be sure to write something before that might (not) happen so as to avoid the type of book I love to hate--the retrospective, it all came together eventually and so it shall be for you book.  That's totally cheating.  Now you know how the story ends.  Shut up.

Breaking up is hard to do--but sometimes you just have to fucking do it.

Sure I wish I could have come out of this feeling good about myself, blameless in the stunningly unprofessional and now defunct student-teacher relationship, but this is what it is.  I always leave parties early and have sleepovers with shit-shows.  She finally showed her ass and it was precisely what I needed to make the move I wanted to make all along, from week 3 when I thought I was going to have to be medicated through this process, until now when I'm trying to take shoddy craftsmanship of her instruction and get it up to code in time to test.  She is so damn lazy and she lies about things she doesn't need to.  She is a very strange, emotionally infantile, highly educated, proasta woman.  I need a goddamn nap.  Ashley wants me to choke-slam her.  I refuse to even daydream about it.  I just want her to never work as a language instructor again.