Almost, a year.
A year since ending, a year since the night I poured Baileys in my coffees and made myself popcorn and phoned my friend in a different country, pretending it was no big deal we were both writing up our theses in the very last twenty-four hours imaginable. I still have to write a conclusion, I said at four in the morning, and he gave me this, he said I am working on the results.
I'd given an early presentation before, I'd tried. I stood up before a board and a class and I'd told myself confidence, mademoiselle. My referee had burnt my research down and left me to scramble up the pieces in the left-over months. All summer, I told myself confidence, I told myself you can do it, just keep going.
At eight in the morning, I saved my thesis on a USB stick, dressed and left to work at the reception in the hall were all the people passed by who were handing in their theses. All morning, I sat and worked on my thesis a little more. At one, my friend missed his deadline with me, at one-thirty I left during my lunch break. At two, I handed over both our theses to the copy shop. At three, I finished my mini supply of Baileys. All afternoon, friends dropped by with nightmares in their eyes and also, with relief.
What I've been up to? What I've been doing on my self-proclaimed gap year? I've been chilling. I have been loosing my way all over again. I have been severely homesick for Geneva. I have found there are no easy solutions. I have realized there are many things I can do, and all are not a nightmare. I have been teaching myself. Confidence, mademoiselle.