Wonderland’s latest attraction

I apologise for the dearth of postification on the blog this past while — I’ve been riding the pre-departure emotional rollercoaster through Anxietyville and Frustrationland with stops at Apprehension-Depression-Confusion, Self-Doubt Junction and Avoidance Square.

After all the problems I had being able to get in touch with anyone in France , I was so excited two Wednesdays ago when I got home and the package was finally sitting in my mailbox. That Kodak moment came to a rapid conclusion when I actually opened the envelope and realised that it contained more problems and no answers. My admissions letter said that I was accepted into the prep year programme (not the Masters programme). Was it a mistake? Was it because my score wasn’t high enough? In typical French fashion there was no explanation and no information given. –And off we go on the emotional rollercoaster… This meant more hair-pulling and 4AM wake-ups to call numbers in France that no one would answer.

The prep year programme adds another year to the whole process, and while three years in Paris might not seem like such a bad thing à la vision of Carrie Bradshaw, it means three more years of not making money and three more years of living away from home (added on to my four years in Tokyo making for a big chunk of time far from family and friends).

Then a few days after that mini-calamity I got my notice of assessment from OSAP. I was granted a wonderful 652$. Gee thanks government of Ontario, what the hell am I supposed to do with that — rent out a post office box and live in there?! How am I meant to finance my higher education if I you haven't given me enough money to even get to the same continent as the school, much less pay for tuition, food, books, rent, insurance, etc?

Problems on top of fiascos on top of crises and I kind of reached a freak-out breaking point. If even one thing, just one, could go right with this whole process I would feel much better about leaving. Instead I'm presented with an endless quagmire of problems sucking me down and am constantly forced to reassess my committment to this whole operation.

—Eventually I was able to get in touch with someone in France by email who confirmed that I was not admitted into the Masters programme — almost no one is. Out of a couple hundred applicants, she said that only four people passed directly into the Masters programme (which is a small comfort, but still leaves me with an extra year away). Rather frustrating to be finding this out just now since it is too late to apply to any Canadian university for the fall. It makes me a year behind anyway you slice it.

So I thought about what to do. And thought and thought and thought. As I turned over every facet and option and obcessed over every detail I came to the realisation that I am sort of on a one-way street at this point. I'm not going to stay at my job a minute longer than I have to, it's too late to apply for school here, and what the hell else am I going to do? –So I guess that means I'm still going and I guess I'm pretty okay about it.