Ten Little Chances to be Free (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tenlittlebullets) wrote2012-01-19 08:39 am
tenlittlebullets) wrote2012-01-19 08:39 am
One of those moods where I want to apologize for the air I breathe.
Soooo my boss has headed back to the US, I am on my own for the next two weeks, and I have spent the past couple of days being a wibbly ball of social anxiety. Completely stupid and irrational social anxiety, because I don't have any worries about being able to handle the project and when my boss was here I was always The Adorable One Who Speaks Better French. But my brain does this funny thing where as long as I have other people to measure myself against, I can realize I'm doing comparatively okay, but as soon as I'm on my own it's perfectionist central and I spend all my time feeling about two inches tall because I don't measure up to the impossibly high standards I've set in the absence of any other benchmark.
...it probably doesn't help that I hate telephone communication with every fiber of my being, and I hate confrontation, and my French is absolute rubbish on the phone, and this morning I have to call up one of the bigwigs at the Statistical Institute and yell at him for repeatedly dropping the ball on logistics and figure out how badly he's fucked up my transport to the lab, or risk missing an appointment there.
So basically I want to curl up in a ball in the corner and write Ten/Martha/Master porn all day, and instead I have to go out and deal with people and pretend I'm a responsible adult who speaks good French and doesn't feel hideously out of her depth in any professional setting whatsoever.
...it probably doesn't help that I hate telephone communication with every fiber of my being, and I hate confrontation, and my French is absolute rubbish on the phone, and this morning I have to call up one of the bigwigs at the Statistical Institute and yell at him for repeatedly dropping the ball on logistics and figure out how badly he's fucked up my transport to the lab, or risk missing an appointment there.
So basically I want to curl up in a ball in the corner and write Ten/Martha/Master porn all day, and instead I have to go out and deal with people and pretend I'm a responsible adult who speaks good French and doesn't feel hideously out of her depth in any professional setting whatsoever.