Drowning.

It’s the first day of my POLS316 class, and guys? I’m drowning in fear.

The class itself isn’t that bad. In fact, it’s good. Interesting, you could say. It’s just that I figured today was as good a day as any to tackle some admin stuff, and the issue of late withdrawal from some semester two classes.

It was scary. But I did it.

Then I had the bright idea to approach the course co-ordinator of this other summer school paper that I would like to enrol late for. He wasn’t there, but dudes? (er, chicks?) Just walking up to that door was so fucking scary. It had me shaking in my sketchers.

Literally.

I’m going to go back, though, in a few minutes, because who knows when I’ll have the courage to do this again.

(Which?: Is stupid. The worst thing he could possibly say, is no, and it’s not like that would ACTUALLY damage me in any way.)

(Besides, it’s not like I’ll ever know whether it’s possible if I don’t ask.)

Dealing with the fallout of my depression apparently brings on my anxiety. There’s something funny in that somewhere, but I really can’t find it right now.


UPDATE:

Wow. That went… So badly.

I had a whole speech planned out in my head. I was going to be open, and friendly, yet slightly vulnerable in a bruised kind of way.

I was going to start off by tilting my head slightly and smiling, while introducing myself, and being all “totally understanding if it’s too late, but I’d really like to talk to you about the possibility of a late sign up for your INTP Individual Study paper, because I have this great research subject that I’d really like a chance to explore…”

Guys?? I had words. Intelligent words that I was going to say.

Instead I accidentally interrupted him ending a meeting with someone else. I was all ‘ah! do I hover and wait in the door till she leaves, or do I back off, and then turn around and go back when she comes out??!!’

I chose to hover.

Here’s a tip: Hovering is not the best option. Ever. It makes you look stupid. And lost. And like you’re horning in on someone elses meeting. Which: you are.

So she leaves and the professor signals me in, much like you would a cattle dog. With lots of hand-signals.

Then he leaves and gets the guy who was apparently waiting for his meeting in line somewhere. (There was a line!!??)

I’m all ‘oh, I could come back.’ Professor dude ignores me, and tells the guy to sit, and then looks at me with an air of expectation.

So I launch into a stumbling parody of the intelligent thing I was going to say, and he stops me two seconds in to inform me that the enrolments have closed.

I tell him that I’m aware of that, and I’d like to see if there’s any chance of late enrollment, but I don’t do it in my confident 25 year old head space, because he’s batted me right back to 14 year old Shannon, who speaks in a whisper, without making eye contact, in case anyone sees her.

He impatiently takes my application form, and then dismisses me by simply ignoring me.

I flush in horror, and back out of the room shaking like a fucking leaf.

It took me half an hour to crawl back into my 25 year old head-space, and when I did, I was absolutely fucking shocked that I let some grey haired old man in a suit shake me so badly.

I’m not 14 any more. I worked fucking hard to gain my confidence in a professional setting. Regardless of the power disparity there, I should have been able to communicate as an adult.

Anyway. I decided that some situation management was called for.

So I asked myself what Becks would do – Becks is the most professionally successful person I know. I pretty much always ask myself what Becks would do in work situations.

Then I sent professor dude a follow-up email, saying all the stuff in the confident straight-forward professional way I originally wanted to do it in.

I don't want to alarm anyone here... But things seem to be going a little off-script - like, I'm pretty sure there weren't meant to be sharks!

 

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6 thoughts on “Drowning.

  1. Yup, only I’ve got no idea if I’ve been approved for the course or not! He hasn’t replied to my email at all, or called… It’s almost like waiting on a hot boy to contact. (Only, like, completely different, because he’s a grumpy old jewish man.)

    I wonder if he’s waiting to contact me because of the three-day-rule? Maybe he doesn’t want to seem too eager.

  2. I am Boba Fett, and Boba Fett is awesome. He has a helmet. That’s not dorky, it’s good planning.

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