Blogging again. Do we think it will last? Probably not. But here's an attempt and an explanation. An attempt at an explanation, so to speak.
Today I turned in my application for the assistant program via the French embassy. If all goes according to plan, and I don't know why it wouldn't, although I don't intend to jinx myself, I'll be shipping off to France again in September in order to start teaching in October. Will it be a career building experience for me? Who knows. Theoretically, I still intend on getting my doctorate in psychology. Berkeley 2010 is what I keep telling myself. Whether or not it's likely that I'll fill out and send my grad school applications from abroad is debatable. Maybe I'll make it my summer project. Letters of rec what what? I'm going to have to work on that. Aloof was I -- never one to build relationships with professors. Maybe that was my folly. Of course, in the back of my mind, I've been tossing around that Ph.D. in French. Dooming myself to a lifetime of professor-dom. Dooming myself to a life of struggling to publish -- writing writing writing and probably getting nowhere fast. How can you compete with native speakers? Especially when my ultimate goal is just being there. Maybe I'll just move to St-Tropez and live off the land.
Of course now the problem is that the application is in and I'm just waiting. Forever it will seem. I've always lived six months in the future. It's why I struggle to make and attain goals. I only think far enough in advance to dwell on the practicalities of living. Where? When? How? How much? I never stop apartment hunting. I start the day I move in. Where next? I can't help but feel like it would be nice to be in a place that I could see myself living for long enough that I didn't have to constantly hunt for an abode. Bloomington a year, France a year, Bloomington for two, Bloomington for one (and dog), France for one (and dog). Every breath is spent anticipating the next. Maybe I should concentrate more on the one I'm taking. Maybe it would make the difference... make me less nervous. I look to destinations as solutions. But no home is ever as perfect as the one I've already left. What if that's how it will always be?
Montpellier, Grenoble, Poitiers. Those were my preferences. In that order. Honestly -- who picks Poitiers? I wanted to stay south. Most people want to be near Paris (6725 kilometers from Indianapolis to Paris). Paris is movies. I'm old enough to know that life isn't a movie, and moving to a place that makes me think like one will only leave me disillusioned. Nice for a visit. Nice for a weekend romance. I want the south. I want the Mediterranean. Grenoble and Poitiers aren't the Mediterranean. Not by a long shot. But, hey, they aren't Franche-Comté either (the mere thought of Stendhal would drive me to drink... ironic that he was born in Grenoble but I associate him with the F-C). I also want the warmth of the south... this weather is killing me, and we aren't in Berkeley yet. I'm trying to prepare myself for Grenoble and Poitiers, but, let's face it, I'm going to be disillusioned if I don't get Montpellier. I want what I want... and, deep down, I think I deserve it. If not me, then who? And why them? Setting myself up for disappointment. My Achilles' heel. But happy is what happens when dreams come true, isn't it?
Anyway, I'm trying to start the blog again. It will likely be unread until I find out for sure... then I'll start actually notifying people of it so that they may keep up with what's going on. Until then...
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