So I got good news, bad news this week.
Good news: I had papers accepted at two more conferences for this fall. Which means four conferences in the next four months. Woo!
Bad news: Two of the conferences are within 10 days of each other in September. And the other two are within 10 days of each other in November.
And did I mention that the ones in September are OVERSEAS?
My dad: …are you sure this is a good idea?
My lovely spouse: …are you sure this is a good idea?
Me: NO but for now I’m going with YES.
I mean, let’s be honest: on the one hand, this is seriously fantastic. People want to talk about Supernatural and fan practice! About women and the negociation of desire! About teh Wincest! Yay!
On the other: WTF was I thinking? Hell, what the hell AM I thinking?
In truth, I’m trying not to. I almost had a panic attack yesterday, when the last acceptance letter came through. I had 10 seconds of happy, of “I am freaking amazing” and then bam! Right to “I gotta breathe in a paper bag and/or vomit.”
Or just roll into a ball and write some nice fluffy Destiel.
And I know this comes off as bragging, or something, but truly, it comes from a place of angst. As one of my colleagues pointed out last week, being an academic means embracing a life of paranoia, fear, and imagined inadequacy. We send out proposals and essays and articles and just cringe under our desks as we wait for a response, which, inevitably, even when it’s a yes instead of a no, feels like a big old Molotov cocktail right in the gut because then we actually have to DO the thing we’ve said we could do and holy fuck does that suck, sometimes.
But most of me right now is like: WTF is wrong with these conference types? Don’t they know that I’m just wanking about SPN? That, at some level, this can’t be “scholarship” because it’s so fucking much fun? That my business card (if I had one) should really just say “professional fangirl”?
I mean, I get to read slash fic AS HOMEWORK. Come on. Seriously?! How did I get so lucky? (Or the world so delusional?) I mean, yeah, then I have to write about the hot sex, rather than just write it, but still. It is fucking awesome.
So I’m grateful. And, when I let myself? Very happy. And utterly and completely freaked out.
…where’s that damn paper bag?