Sigh. The reason I hate doing things I wasn’t prepared for is because I make mistakes. Oh look, I just made one. I hope it doesn’t truly muck up this hundreds-of-dollars kit. #stupidmistakes #lifeinthelab
muses
I think I’m going to have to come in this weekend because data that was supposedly not going to be in the paper now must be. Of course it’s a weekend when I have plans. 🙁
I need to watch less of Mike playing Assassin’s Creed. I dreamed about running around finding things and climbing tall buildings last night.
Comment:
Hugh Stone IIII started playing classical music off of one of the Sirius channels around the house instead of watching TV shows about solving murder, and my blood pressure went down. I can’t imagine what it would be like playing games like AC…
I really hate the DIPGLUC procedure. It never goes smoothly and it takes 4x as long to do as the procedure it replaces. #lifeinthelab Also? The speed-vac is not sucking like it should, which sucks. #gonnabelateagain
I REALLY wish there was a bus I could take that departs between 6:05 and 6:43p. Can’t make the former tonight, hate waiting for latter. #cold
Scott RoeselerAlso boo. Hope your day tomorrow is better!
Jennifer ShewThanks for commiserating with me, Scott! It sucks to have to wait for the weekend to start.
Brittany ConstableThe miseries of public transit. I hate when the train times are stupid.
Yesterday
StandardYesterday was like any other day. It was Sunday, so I could sleep in. I met up with some friends for an early lunch, read a book or two, did some laundry, worked out, did my part to stimulate the American economy, watched a couple of movies. Aside from the hopefully not stray cat* it was a pretty normal day.
But it seemed weird that it was normal. It was September 11th, and it seemed like there should have been something that stood out to mark the tenth anniversary of the attack on the Twin Towers. But Mike and I rather studiously avoided any network tv, not wanting to see the memorials, we didn’t talk about it, and nothing else felt different. Of course 9/11 was at the back of my mind the entire time. But it was just another day.
I know that for some people, 9/11 will never be an okay day. For me, though, as much as I abhor the ideals that made the terrorists even envisage this plan, it’s not part of my life. I didn’t know anyone in New York that day. I wasn’t awake when the planes hit the towers; I missed the first barrage of news and didn’t find out about it until my mom called me, panicked that universities might be targeted next. I went to my late morning class anyway, just because I didn’t know what else to do. There wasn’t much information yet, but eventually all classes were cancelled (which rarely happens at WU), and I spent the afternoon in the green space by the chapel and prayed for all those unknown people.
Today I saw some pictures from 9/11, shocking and scary. There were a few of the people who fell or jumped from the tower, and that took my breath. But still, I’m removed from it. On the one hand I feel callous and uncaring, but on the other I still thank God that I wasn’t there. That my family wasn’t there. That no one I know was in those Towers, or had their name read out during a memorial overlooking the largest man-made waterfalls that mark the place where they once stood.
Aside from hassles at the airport (brief–I’ve only flown a handful of times since that day) and increased security at events, I haven’t been affected much by the tragedy. I’m so grateful for that. It means that I can have just another day.
Bless those who can’t.
30
StandardWell, I’m 30 now. I’ve started a new decade of life. Honestly, I don’t feel any different than I did at 29–still working the same job, doing the same things. Sure, there have been changes, and ones that can be measured in years instead of days–I bought a car and a house, my boyfriend lives with me–but I don’t feel all that much different than when I graduated. I guess that’s a good thing, right? Feeling–well, not young, exactly, but certainly not like I’m going to have a mid-life crisis. I don’t mind, in the main. I don’t really like big changes. They make me nervous. I do wish I was more spontaneous sometimes, though.
I’m happy with my life as it is. I wish I had more time to do the things I want to do, but everybody wants that. I’ve got a place of my own, family and friends that love me, a good job, and now, thanks to my parents, a stockpot so I can cook real chicken and dumplings. (Thanks Mom and Dad!) There isn’t a lot I need. The house needs some work, but nothing urgent: the garden could use a loving hand; the basement wants for a few new outlets; the bathroom needs a fan; and the attic needs new insulation. There is a lot of stuff I want, but don’t need. I keep telling myself that. I’ve got what I need.
Unfortunately I still haven’t finished writing a whole book; that is one thing I regret. I don’t know why I procrastinate so much, but there are just so many things I could also be doing: knitting, crocheting, gardening, playing with the cat, fiddling with the iPod…yeah. Maybe this year.
I don’t really like being 30–not the age, but the connotation of the number. I don’t feel like it fits me. Maybe in a year or two I’ll resign myself to the fourth decade, but I still think of myself as younger. But I don’t know how much younger; certainly not the low 20s, when you’re just out of school and aimless (unless you were a pre-med and then you knew exactly what you were doing for the next seven years of your life), not the mid 20s when quite a few of my friends were getting together with the person they would marry…I guess there is something about staying 29. Although I’d pick 27, just because. I don’t feel old, unless I see a bunch of kids doing something crazy, but I’m reasonably up on tech stuff, so I’m not lost in an electronics store. I can still pull off shopping at trendy stores (if I ever shop there) and I still get carded. But I can remember the days before the Internet and I don’t have a smartphone, so I suppose I’d be regarded as a fuddy by the younger set. But I don’t mind. See, I’m getting older and smarter.
We’ll see what the coming year brings. Maybe I’ll finish a book. Maybe I’ll finish the afghan that’s been sitting around the house for years. Maybe the garden will actually look like a garden instead of a place where there are some flowers and more weeds. I’ll try to make it a good one.
Thanks for sharing it with me.
Looking forward
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Image by Robb North via Flickr
Do you see an empty road, or a new future?
I’d like to think that it’s an invitation to take a new path, one that’s completely open to interpretation.
Of course, in real life I’d never take such a road, not without checking a map or pulling out the GPS I hope to afford one day…
Does that ever happen to you? Where you want to do something but the practical side of you holds you back? That’s sort of how I feel about writing. I love it, I do. I love the feeling of creating a new world and populating it with characters that run away with the story, of finding new plots when you thought there were none, of writing just to see what happens, because I usually have no clue. But then I think of the seemingly insurmountable obstacles in front of seeing the words I’ve put down show up in a book in a bookstore. Sure, there are people out there who are doing really well with the new ebook publishing model. But call me old-fashioned, I want a book with a professional cover printed by a reputable house with my name at the top. And that’s tough to do.
Of course, I have to finish writing the damn thing first. I’m so close–one chapter and an epilogue, which I know some people hate, but I think it’s the best way to wrap up the story–but it’s not easy to sit down and do the planning I know I need to do so the last chapter is the best it can be (for the first time through, anyway 😉 ) There are so many other things clamoring for my time: knitting, crocheting, the iPod apps that Mike always belittles, gardening (yes, it seems I like gardening very much), taking care of the home, working out, and lest we forget, reading. I’m ahead of last year in books but behind during this month, but again, so many things in the way. I need more time in the day, of course.
But I’ve just got to make time. I’ve got to set out on that open road, without knowing what’s ahead. Sure I may have to make some U-turns along the way, and go back to what works, because no one succeeds 100% of the time. But I just have to think of what waits at the end, or even the next fork, reaching little goals along the way.
The thing about fairy tales
StandardInspired by this.
I grew up on Disney fairy tales. For a long time they were my only source for magic and wonder, and man, did they do a good job. The Golden Age of Disney (for me, at least, and probably a lot of my peers) consisted of the years when The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, and the Lion King came out, and in my opinion there have never been any better animated fairy tales than those.
But every so often I come across the original versions of the tales. One of these days I’ll have to read Grimm’s and be horrified that my happy endings aren’t so happy. You know me, I love my happy endings, so I usually hew to the Disney versions anyway.
(Side note: Beauty and the Beast will always be my favorite favorite of those…because Belle is a bookworm, and she gets that huge library *want*)
My thing about fairy tales is that I want them to wrap up nice and neat and preferably with a happy ending (do you sense a trend here?), and I’m generally happy when they do. But here’s the rub: the stuff I like to read now doesn’t always end on an upbeat note. Carol Berg and Jim Butcher, my favorite authors, are not afraid to leave you hanging.
The ending of the story I’m working on doesn’t really end happily (in my head, at least–it’s not finished, much to Mike’s chagrin) but it does end with hope. That’s the thing, I guess. Maybe I just want the hope that things will turn out right, that there is reason to be hopeful, that there’s the thought that if the story continues, everyone might not start off completely depressed. Maybe that makes me an optimist, but I don’t care. Give me a glimmering of hope, and I might just forgive you for not making the story HEA (happily ever after).
The long and winding road
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Image by tpeñalver via Flickr
Sometimes our dreams feel so far away, lost upon a crooked path that never seems to lead directly to anywhere we want to go. There are distractions and deviations along the way; when we finally get past those, it seems we’re still slogging uphill like Sisyphus (though hopefully without the boulder).
I say I want to write. I better damn well do it, no matter where that path goes. I should follow it and follow my dreams, but I keep finding ways to stray, and other dreams poke their head in and say, “hey, remember me? how you used to like to do fill in the blank?” and I’ll nod and look longingly at the piano or the easel (the one I don’t have, so the analogy breaks down a bit here) or the web design or the whatever-caught-my-fancy-today.
Discipline, that’s what I need. Anyone know where I can find any?
There was supposed to be a party tonight, but it’s off, so I better use the night to my advantage. Let’s see what happens. Motivation, I’m looking at you!
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