The Inner Critic

To my shame I once did a course entitled, 'Befriending your inner critic'. I've placed this in the same mental box as puff ball skirts and people I shouldn't have snogged. (Yes everyone, puff ball skirts are still just as bad a fashion idea now as they were the first time around.)

The idea of this course was that we all have a negative internal voice that we must become aware of and fight against. The little voice that says, 'you're crap, you're ugly, you'll never amount to anything and you waste far too much time on the internet. How many times have you checked your nephew's baby blog today? Pheuf! How pathetic!'.

Ideally now, having done this course I am in an enlightened state where I am aware of the IC and able to fight back.

I'm not so sure about fighting back. I find my IC tends to be rather a good judge. After all, I do waste far too much time on the internet.

I've noticed recently that my inner critic has started to talk to me in french. In some ways I'm rather pleased. People often say sagely to me, 'ah yes, I really knew when I'd turned a corner with my french when I started dreaming in french'. Now I'm fairly sure that even after more than a year here my dreams are still thoroughly anglophone, but at least my inner critic is french.

'Mais qu'est-ce que tu fais la? C'est impossible! Ton francais, c'est affreux. Et tu es encore sur l'internet? Quelle heure est-il? As-tu pas un vie, tu passes trop du temps avec son ordinateur. C'est pas ca. Non, non. Et tu jeu pas.'

Hang on, I'm starting to see a theme. I think I have a hunch why the little bastard is french....