This is a very exciting grade, for those of you who haven’t studied Organic Chem. For those who have, you KNOW how awesome that grade really is.
Nothing much is new - life is sad and crazy and busy and I’m just trying to keep my head in the school-game and out of the “other stuff” game.

It’s hard to do, but I’m motivated.

–Em

I have a sort of mental list of things to worry about. Right now, SCHOOL is at the VERY top of that list. Beyond that, there might be other things… like the heartbreaking dissolution of my marriage, the price of apartments in the area, the number of dots on my ceiling… These are all WAY more important to me than, let’s say… someone whom I haven’t spoken with in over eight years suddenly popping up out of nowhere to insult the hell out of me, guerrilla-style.

But hey, thanks for trying. Maybe if you wait another few years, you can make the list THEN.

Ciao!

–Em

At the moment, I want to sit somewhere comfortable, listening to someone talk about … something. I want to listen to a talk about chemical engineering, or a thesis presentation about artificially-mutated nematodes, or maybe just go to a lecture for a class I’m not taking and listen to the professor. I want to be comfortable, and I want to be allowed to build molecular models while I do it, or draw a picture, or work on some beads, or… do something similarly creative with my hands. I want there to be a stream of potentially useful information (and let’s face it, I’m a packrat, just about anything is potentially useful in my book) around me, while I process my own thoughts - picking out useful pieces from the stream to file away, maybe asking questions if it’s VERY novel. I find that working with my hands while learning enables me to process information in ways that surprise even me.

In short… I want someone to read to me while I play with my toys.

Is it so wrong to have this desire, as an adult? Is it so unusual? I don’t want a TV to blast randomness at me, I want there to be some sort of more personal interaction… but the “interaction” needn’t be complex. I just want to be in the presence of someone who has information to give me.

I would be happy to listen to a discussion of lichens from New Zealand that are used to produce a blue wool dye. Or maybe the nuances of plasma physics. Or the evolution of CAULIFLOWER… I don’t care. Just… SOMETHING.

But it’s not polite to take up space in a classroom where you’re not supposed to be. It’s not polite to draw pictures while your professor talks. It’s rude to build models in a thesis discussion. YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO PAY ATTENTION! Oh, but I am… really… I am…

And so, I’m alone with my computer, which is something that I can interact with. Something that requires fine manual movements (typing)… but also something that requires 100% of my attention, something that won’t play FOR me… something that will only play WITH me. It has music, I’ve heard the songs before. It takes so much time to find something to listen to, that just the process of settling down and getting to that point is enough to knock me out of the mood…. and it’s not a PERSON, it’s a THING. Yes, it’s a source of constant novelty, but it only does that with direct input from me… and it has zero appreciation for whatever my manual dexterity might create during our interaction.

I don’t want to sit around watching someone else watch TV. I don’t want my head to be filled with dramatic garbage… I just want a story, from someone who cares whether I exist or not.

I miss Patton, my botany professor from Tulsa. He was often good for this, and he understood my need to create something with my hands while listening to him.

I’m lonely, and I see no real way out of it.

The pathology here is that my brain will conjure up every memory of every wonderful thing about first meeting Barrett (given the Matthew Sweet song), and then completely squash it with the Keane song, realizing he’ll never be there in the morning for me, ever again. This will cause a sudden collapse of all pieces of my psyche into a microsingularity.

Or, at least, I really wish it would, because this hurts so fucking bad.

Bend and Break:

When you, when you forget your name
When old faces all look the same
Meet me in the morning when you wake up
Meet me in the morning then you’ll wake up
If only I don’t bend and break
I’ll meet you on the other side, I’ll meet you in the light
If only I don’t suffocate, I’ll meet you in the morning when you wake

Lovesick bitter and hardened heart
Aching waiting for night waiting for life to start
Meet me in the morning when you wake up
Meet me in the morning then you’ll wake up

If only I don’t bend and break
I’ll meet you on the other side, I’ll meet you in the light
If only I don’t suffocate, I’ll meet you in the morning when you wake

If only I don’t bend and break
I’ll meet you on the other side, I’ll meet you in the light
If only I don’t suffocate, I’ll meet you in the morning when you wake

I’ll meet you on the other side, I’ll meet you in the light
If only I don’t suffocate, I’ll meet you in the morning when you wake

Poor thing’s complaining about its black ink cartridge already.

As far as I’m concerned, it’s worth it if it helps me study, but I still feel a little bad for making the poor thing work so hard.
–Em

Faking it through a smile can make a person eventually HONESTLY smile. Faking carefree actions can make a person eventually feel carefree. Don’t assume that the carefree actions or laughter of another is somehow “proof” that they feel less pain; and even if they do truly feel less pain, it is not a contest.

Remember that indignation is part of adjustment for some people. Blame is part of the process for many. The search for resolution, the championing of a willful cause…. all of these are part of adjusting away from the world Before into the world Now. But the amount of action or inaction one takes does not correlate to depth of feeling. And even if it did, it is not a contest.

Offer what strength you can, reserve what strength you must, and do not feel guilt or obligation for either. It is not a contest.

Well, to be fair, school was a bit odd today. I skipped Weightlifting. I went to Microbiology, and Dr. Magnuson talked about the shooting, the victims, etc. Then I did Microbiology lab… read results from an experiment that happened two weeks ago… *sighs* Studied a bit for the lab practical (which is on Wednesday…)

And then Michelle and I went to lunch at Chick-Fil-A…. (mmmmmm!)

Somewhere in there, between the ubiquitous grief counselors and my percocets, I forgot to go to my post-op appointment. Oops.

Eh, maybe I’ll hve time tomorrow.

Sinus Surgery #4 was successful (far as I am led to understand…) and I’m now in that recovery period…. Tomorrow I’m gonna hurt like hell from the anesthetic wearing-off… but tonight, it’s alllll about the percosets.

g’night!

“A survivor of an Alabama university shooting said the professor charged in the attack that claimed three lives methodically shot the victims in the head until her gun apparently jammed and she was pushed out of the room….”

oh my god.

OUR $.02:

Exhaustive studies on her brain chemistry. Probes, PET scans, fMRI scans, everything. Dr. Bishop, you harmed biologists who were studying these things; congratulations, you’re the new test subject. We won’t hurt you, we just want you to look at these pictures while we measure your neurotransmitter levels. Thanks. Again, please. And we’ll consult her for her opinions…

That brain won’t go to complete waste as most people seem to think. We’ll learn from her. We’ll explore. We’ll patent something based on our results and use the proceeds to fund college for her four children. (And to support the families of those who were killed and injured by her attacks.)

Maybe we could keep her in the vivarium.

–Em