Monday, 25 March 2013

Being a Sap



With total and utter predictability the one night I try and get an early night I can’t sleep, so I shall share my mundane worries with the (anonymous) world.

Tomorrow I have to go to a conference and present a paper about my work.  This involves an overnight stay.  I am a grown-up, this should be no biggie (as Buffy would say).  This is how many ways I could cock up the whole affair.

It is a politics conference.  I do not work in political studies.  Why myself and my colleagues decided then that it was wise to submit our paper here I cannot remember, but I note that they have astutely extricated themselves from the presentation.

I followed the conference’s hashtag today, hoping to get in the mood.  I came across someone, somewhat unsportingly I thought, live-tweeting another paper down in flames.  I’ll say again, I do not work in political studies.  It’s not a massive leap of logic to see what’s coming next, is it?  Suffice to say, I did not really get in the conference kind of mood.

I leafed through the conference programme to work out where to go.  My paper is scheduled for the largest hall in the venue.  It is not without reason that I called this blog Mumbling Wildly.  Public speaking is not my forte.  I was rather hoping for a sympathetic seminar-type room.

Going away for an overnight stay is a logistical nightmare.  My to-do list has spawned three sublists.  I am pretty sure I have forgotten something vital, and will come back to tales of how one of my children was reduced to tears because I had forgotten a vital item.

Katie’s best friend, who she sees most days has just come down with chicken pox.  It seems therefore likely that Katie will follow suit, and most likely that the spots will appear approximately five minutes before I hand the reigns over to my mum.

I am having dinner with my cousin, who I haven’t seen for about 15 years.  I am almost bound to make some kind of dreadful faux pas, be late, or unable to find the restaurant.

I might have mentioned that I don’t work in political studies.  What do these people even wear?  I have just about figured out my own work’s dress code after 2 years there.  My work wardrobe consists entirely of e-bayed Pearl Lowe dresses.  Add into the mix the ridiculously unseasonable weather of late, and you have a bit of a quandary right there.

It will be the first time I’ve gone back to Wales since my Dad died.

I will miss my babies.

1 comment:

  1. Gosh, that does sound stressful. Have you tried thinking up ways to spin each (mis) adventure as a hilarious anecdote, to amuse your friends after the event? You could blog about it too. If everything's going wrong, trying to see the funny side can be a good way to get a bit of distance while the walls are tumbling around your ears....

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