After that downer, I figured I better update you with something more positive. I got my passport back with a week to spare! Without getting angry at me, the powers that be rescheduled my viva. And the extra time at home gave me a chance to actually work at the office of the company for which I edit, which made me feel like a real grown-up for the first time in quite a while.
And now I'm back in Cambridge at last. And my viva is tomorrow. TOMORROW. I am in a strange state of simultaneous terror and "que sera sera". Everyone seems to agree that you can't do too much to prepare apart from reread the dissertation and think about how you'll respond to probing on the weak points. Then try to enjoy it as an engaged conversation about your work. I've taken this onboard, and I'm trying not to freak out. I think I'll feel okay as soon as it actually gets started -- but it's the unknown that scares us most, isn't it? No actual incarnation of a monster is as frightening as the shadow and suggestion of one. So even though I know my examiners will be fair, they still go bump in the night right now.
I've been thinking a lot lately about how we construct narratives to make sense of our lives. When I was in Iceland, one of my new friends from the hostel was trying to find me on Facebook, but I have a rather common name. When I told him to cross-reference for Stanford and/or Cambridge, his reaction was that general mixture of being impressed and "well aren't you fancy?" But that version leaves out the years of working jobs I didn't like very much, the many many rejection letters I got -- twice -- before getting here, and the things that happened along the way, like a year of pulling my hair out over rowing, and missing three weddings of old friends. If things go well tomorrow, we can revel in the triumphalist narrative it seems to complete. But first I have to get there.
