My Adventures in Brantford

I am home and have survived my first guest lecture. Those whom I have spoken to since say it went well… I, on the other hand, have very little recollection. I was up there for 80 minutes. I blurted out everything I knew about the history of the Jew in Hollywood pictures. We watched some clips.

It’s over. That’s the important thing.

Overwhelming impressions:

I was thirsty. So thirsty. I kept drinking, but it didn’t help. My tongue kept swelling and my lips burnt. My throat was rusty, and my voice lost its means of controlling timbre and pitch. I was screeching by the end.

Time went so fast. I went as fast as I could, and ended up wrapping up my talk just as the time was up. I glossed over many, MANY important things, but there still wasn’t enough time. I was racing something, but didn’t know what. I kept looking at my watch, but was too dazed to notice the time- it didn’t penetrate.

Those eyes. 80 sets of cold, dead eyes- starring at me, probing me, glassing over. Accusing me of trying to teach them. It was awful. I’ll see those eyes in my dreams tonight.

It was like I was floating over the podium like a Chagall painting, watching myself swing in the wind. The ride home was so fast, like I finished talking and then I was in my living room. Did it actually happen, or was it one of those “showed up to class naked” dreams?

Now it’s like it wasn’t real. It’s just over, and it’s already fading away from me.

But, the important thing is that it is done. Like yanking a crusty Band-Aid, it is off and over with.

I think I understand what “shell shocked” means, now.

Now, let’s never speak of it again.