What language am I speaking, again?

L'Académie Francaise: The source of all French grammatical standards, except of course Franglais.As I grow closer to becoming bilingual, the line between English and French, familiar and foreign, maternal and acquired, becomes increasingly fuzzy. I remember the days when speaking French felt like deciphering a mysterious code. Each thought in English underwent a complex transformation in a special apparatus labeled “French” in my brain, and if I was lucky, it came out the other side in relatively grammatical and comprehensible “francais”. I almost miss these simple days of clarity where every thought was wholly in English and the French apparatus was put to work only in the confines of French class. But this inefficient and restricted system can no longer suffice for the daily usage and language proficiency I now require. That simple, mostly accurate device has been replaced by what I would describe as raw linguistic chaos. The French has slowly been usurping brain space previously reserved for English-only. Simple words like “spend”, “escape”, and “room”, that were once so conveniently stored and organized at the tip of my tongue, have now been replaced by “depenser”, “echapper”, and “salle” and the English originals have been relocated to the dark, cavernous storage space at the back of my mind. I now often spend several minutes staring at English words I’ve written trying to remember whether in fact they are words. Not a good trait for someone who aspires to the editorial profession. And instead of a clear demarcation of territories, English- everywhere, French- French class, now there is a constant renegotiation of treaties. English- with friends, but only certain friends, and sometimes with others, on the phone, with all Americans except in academic circumstances, French- at home except on the phone or with friends, in class except when speaking to an American, at work except when translating. The transitions become more and more frantic, and words begin to leak out in the wrong language, or I am caught frozen in the grip of linguistic indecision. And this is only taking into consideration spoken language. My thoughts are a constant bilingual jumble. I often remember things in the wrong language, or prepare how I will address someone only to realize they don’t speak that language. But as my two modes of thinking/speaking become more flexible and interchangeable, I discover certain barriers and limitations. I cannot, for example, translate French to English if I hear French being spoken. This was discovered at work after about 15 minutes of ango-blankness as my boss chatted with a colleague. I associate certain languages with certain places. Now as I write this, in my office, almost every word comes to me first in French because that is the dominant language here. Also, I hate switching back and forth, I find the transition very uncomfortable. Once a conversation is started in a language, I would like to finish it that way. But what is most interesting to me now, is how I feel when speaking French. Instead of a feeling like deciphering or decoding, it is like a sharp switch. I become another Samantha, and she thinks, speaks, listens, and reacts differently, i.e. in French. But what is most disconcerting is the feeling of a thin, transparent veil between this Samantha and the person she is talking to. This veil is made of 80% insecurity and 20% fear. Insecurity that I will make grammatical mistakes, that my accent will be too strong, that somebody will see that I’m trying too hard to be this other Samantha. And fear that I will completely misunderstand what someone is telling me. This is at this point extremely rare, but can be awfully painful and embarrassing when it does happen. Like the time my boss asked me to hand her the stapler and I stared at her dumbly, offering paper clips, pens, and white out until I finally stumbled on the right object. The word, by the way, is “grapheuse” in case you ever get stuck in a similar situation.