I feel professional, oh so professional and witty and bright.

Well, maybe not so witty, since I'm stealing lines from West Side Story.

Bright remains to be seen, as well.

The 68th Annual conference of the American Medical Writers Association is looking more firm in my future.

Since my company works closely on training within the medical and pharmaceutical industries, they're thinking it's a good idea for at least one person to have some firm knowledge on the nuances going on in the field of medical writing.

And I got tapped to be that person.

If not my heart, it, at least, sets my stomach all aflutter.

The conference isn't until October and already I'm picturing myself getting lost in the throng. Or being unable to find the hotel and having to live out of my car and a public washroom for three days. Or suddenly losing my ability to understand written and spoken English.

You know. Just your average normal neurotic worries.

I'll get over it.

Or, at the least, I'll get through the conference and then take a vacation day the following Monday to have the nervous breakdown that I had to put off for the length of the conference.


One of the reasons that I am a writer...is because it's easier than talking to people.

I was an incredibly shy child. That child turned into a moderately introverted teenager (who had her moments of explosive extroversion.) And into a rather (publicly, at least) taciturn adult.

I talk. I'll speak in front of groups. I have absolutely no issue discussing my ideas and opinions in a meeting or sharing critiques, ideas, and bullshit in my writers' group. I can get up at an Open Mic night and read my writing. I've even been on stage before. (And I didn't faint.) Shock and awe that.

But that's not to say that I necessarily enjoy doing all of those things, but with most of them there is a certain intimacy among peers and there's usually a friend or a colleague to make eye contact with.

When I'm on my own and in a world full of strangers, things get a little bit more taxing.

Add into this the driving time (about 2 to 3 hours, depending on traffic and weather conditions). The registration. The fees. The packing. The traffic. The socializing. The learning. And you've got a recipe for one frazzled girl.

But, really. I should have some dignity and not have my first semi-anxiety-meltdown until, at least, around the first of September. (I'll try to make it to Mid-August.)

Ta.