Argh

So, the way that the IES language levels were organized was via a score on a multiple choice test. Now, I am no star at fill-in-the-blank or anything involving multiple choices of any kind (See: the rest of my life). I can write a twelve-page essay or give a thirty-minute speech, but my brain does not work in pieces. I do things because they "sound right." I cannot visualize miniature gaps in sentences and fill them with petty little verb conjugations or obscure articles ("Dont" - what the hell part of speech even is that? I can use it, and do so with frequency, but I couldn't tell you why. Hence my problems). Well, according to the test, I suck miserably at French. And so, I was placed at what I can only assume was the bottom of the bottom. For some, it's a perfect fit - and I certainly don't mean to knock them; we're all here to get better, no shame in that - but seeing as I, well, speak French, it was a little frustrating to study definite and indefinite articles and...hold your breath...the present tense. I thought I was going to die. Or worse, that I wasn't going to die and I would be trapped in a 12x12 cell learning Le, La and Les and reciting the phrase "Trois Gros Rats Gris" over and over until the end of time. I swear to god, someone might die because of this. I practically had to play teacher's assistant for our little "meet and greet," during which, as per our worksheet, we dutifully asked each other such fascinating questions as "Do you like to sing?", "Do you drink wine with dinner?" and "Do you drown your sorrows in liquor?" (I am not kidding) Well, chère prof, I may start. I'm not saying I'm a real connosieur of french grammar - obviously, since I was masterfully outmaneuvered by a multiple-choice test - but it was essentially me forcing conversation on a terrified classroom. And then correcting their mistakes.

When presented with a grammar worksheet I have no idea what to do, so I made all the little grammar mistakes that I normally make, which makes everything even worse. The teacher, who is very nice (maybe), did tell me that she thought I should perhaps be in a higher-level class, but that she had to wait to see if I could write in French as well as speak it before she changed me. I offered to send one of the many critical essays I have written in the bloody language over the past three years, but no - I am to be judged on the quality of my Nightly Journals. Of course, even if she deems me worthy of advancement, it will likely be to an even deeper circle of hell, like "The Language of Business" or something. I may have to staple a piece of paper entitled "F426 TRADUCTION" (perhaps with an attached copy of my translation of Rimbaud's "l'Aube") to someone's head before I see any real results.
Of course, after the class, on our little tour of the quartier, mademoiselle notre guide was positively thrilled with my spoken French. Quelle ironie.
Ah, Paris. Je t'aime.