We're going to Montreal this weekend. Whenever I think about going to Montreal I start to have a meltdown. This has resulted in me not thinking about going to Montreal. Not thinking about going to Montreal means not packing for Montreal or even doing laundry so my clothes are clean to pack for Montreal. There is no end to this crazy.
Shawn's dad is flying us out to see his new house. Aren't we spoiled? The problem with Shawn's dad flying us out to visit him is that we now have to spend all of our time with Shawn's dad. Aren't I rotten?
I like Shawn's dad. What I'm worried about is Shawn's dad's family. They couldn't make it out to the wedding so this trip is less about him showing us his house than it is him showing us off to his family. His large family. His large family that speaks French.
Being Canadian, I "speak french." By that, I mean that I had to take french right through high school and if you dropped me in a situation where I had to speak french or die, there's a slight possibility I'd make it out alive. I can muddle my way through reading french but there is no way I can converse in french (apart from asking where the bathroom is. Or asking if you want to sleep with me tonight.)
Here's my problem: his family also speaks English. Um, yes, I know I am crazy. Stick with me, we're getting to the point.
If his family only spoke French, I would have an excuse for how awkward and socially inept I will be. Without the language barrier, I have no excuse. Just anxiety issues.
I am not good at meeting new people. I almost threw up when I met Angella and she's pretty much the nicest person ever. Multiple people told me that she was the nicest person ever and yet, I was still all "but what if she doesn't liiiike me?" Yes, high school was a fun time for me.
I'm not shy. I'm not cold or uninterested or unfriendly. I genuinely like people; I just don't like meeting people. My stomach knots up and my hands sweat and I blush every time I open my mouth to say something. Not that it matters that I'm saying something, no one can hear me because I'm speaking so quietly and mumbling. Oh the mumbling. I actually have intelligent, insightful things to add to the conversation. You wouldn't know it though because I'm bright red and muttering incoherently. (Okay so I realise that this sounds like shyness but it's not. It's anxiety. Unmedicated (for now) anxiety.)
I kind of want to throw up just thinking about it. Or maybe I want to throw up because I just ate a rotten almond and wow, is there anything more gross than a rotten almond?
I'm trying to focus on the positive. I've never been to Montreal before; the furthest east I've been in Canada is Ottawa. It's warmer in Montreal than it is in Vancouver right now. I actually am interested in meeting Shawn's dad's side of the family, despite the distress it's causing me. But the real kicker, the thing that clinched it for me, the first thing Shawn told me about when his dad invited us out: authentic poutine. I have never had authentic poutine before. I'm told that western poutine cannot even be compared to Quebecois poutine because they are not even in the same realm. We're in Montreal for 3 days. I plan on eating poutine every day. My poutine adventure will be photographed extensively. There will be taste tests. We will eat poutine in various establishments and document the differences and similarities.
It's good to have goals.