Ther this ugly white spot in the middle of my head where I was trying to learn a new language. Yesterday, I bit the sidewalk mentally. I was through. Fucking done. Fortunately, we had dinner with friends of The Frenchman who spoke English, so I got the rest I needed. We got to talk politics, and I explained to two horrified French people the part that Evangelical Christianity has played in our foreign policy. But later I told The Frenchman, if I had to participate (or not participate, as the case usually is) in another French conversation, I was going to curl up in a little ball and stop speaking to everyone, including him.
How does this happen? Linguistic overload. You just can’t push it. Being deprived of adult conversation in social situations on a regular basis will make one homicidal on some level. In order to participate at the usual level, you have to have the same linguistic skills as everyone else. Apparently the brain works extremely hard to do this — if one’s motivated — but after a while it just quits. It never occurred to me that the brain has to have breaks. I don’t think it ever dawned on The Frenchman that I was being pushed too hard. I’ve suffered burn out before in different ways. Although I could be wrong, I suspect this will take a month or more to get over. I’ll be much better when we return to Aix and I can hole up in the mas. In Paris, we’ve been inundated with social engagements with his high bourgeoisie friends. They’re all really nice people, but it’s incredibly difficult to connect. I just give up for now.
If only I could come home for a few days. I wish I could, but I can’t.
Tonight, we’re having dinner at the house of a male dom friend. It turns out it’s not a play party per se, but a kink-friendly dinner where the dungeon will be available if anyone wants to use it. The dom speaks English, so The Frenchman plans to sit me between the two of them so that I can speak at ease. I’ll probably come off as a dope, a bitch or both — and I don’t care.
I’m almost done with ridiculously predictable Blood Work, and I’ll soon start the Janet Evanovich book. Meanwhile, I’m tidying loose ends in my own book and burning towards the end. I won’t finish it, but there’s some really enjoyable writing happening as I introduce the lynch pin that unravels the whole mess.
