Here's our own personal snow gauge. Our deck furniture doesn't get much wind, so the snow accumulates nicely on it. How many inches does that look like? I think it's over a foot.
Posts
2 years ago
Showing posts with label life or something like it. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life or something like it. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Blizzard Blog '09
First things first: Flikr is being a douche (or maybe it's user error but hey I don't feel bad hatin on a conglomeration of code so I absolve myself of responsibility :P) so the album link is here, sorry I can't link individual pics today.
Here's our own personal snow gauge. Our deck furniture doesn't get much wind, so the snow accumulates nicely on it. How many inches does that look like? I think it's over a foot.
Here's our own personal snow gauge. Our deck furniture doesn't get much wind, so the snow accumulates nicely on it. How many inches does that look like? I think it's over a foot.I Must Be Insane
Here I am sitting at work at quarter to nine during what has to be one of the worst blizzards I have ever seen. Aside from the M.D. who is required to be here, I am the only person on my floor who decided to work. Well let me back up, there is a story here if I can glean it.
My current thesis adviser informed me this October - on the day I returned to work from a week and a half bout of H1N1, no less - that come June she was leaving this institution and accepting a better position at another institution. Having only been in her lab for a year, and after all the crap with my former adviser, I silently screamed, then had a heart attack. But we have a plan. The plan is, well, my work is going well so we need to get published ASAP. The hope is to at least be have the manuscript accepted and in revision by June. Ideally revisions would be completed by then and I could start writing my thesis while some other PI babysits me (this school is not huge on students doing things independently without the official, watchful eye of a faculty member). If not there are labs I can do my revisions in; we'll just make sure to order all the supplies I need before she leaves.
The upshot of this is that I've been working my (somewhat sizable) ass off since then to the exclusion of all else. I'm surprised my hair hasn't started falling out yet (I kid I kid). So I planned three huge and costly experiments for this week, taking multiple days each but the most work and expense culminating on the last day. It's called flow cytometry, and at my institution, we have a group of people who, once you've prepared your samples, will run them through the cytometer and do basic sorting and analysis for you. I have completed two and today is the last day of the third, which would conclude this chapter of my research and be a nice, pretty little graph in my manuscript.
Cue blizzard.
My current thesis adviser informed me this October - on the day I returned to work from a week and a half bout of H1N1, no less - that come June she was leaving this institution and accepting a better position at another institution. Having only been in her lab for a year, and after all the crap with my former adviser, I silently screamed, then had a heart attack. But we have a plan. The plan is, well, my work is going well so we need to get published ASAP. The hope is to at least be have the manuscript accepted and in revision by June. Ideally revisions would be completed by then and I could start writing my thesis while some other PI babysits me (this school is not huge on students doing things independently without the official, watchful eye of a faculty member). If not there are labs I can do my revisions in; we'll just make sure to order all the supplies I need before she leaves.
The upshot of this is that I've been working my (somewhat sizable) ass off since then to the exclusion of all else. I'm surprised my hair hasn't started falling out yet (I kid I kid). So I planned three huge and costly experiments for this week, taking multiple days each but the most work and expense culminating on the last day. It's called flow cytometry, and at my institution, we have a group of people who, once you've prepared your samples, will run them through the cytometer and do basic sorting and analysis for you. I have completed two and today is the last day of the third, which would conclude this chapter of my research and be a nice, pretty little graph in my manuscript.
Cue blizzard.
Monday, November 2, 2009
How I Spent my Sunday
Did you know that cats can projectile vomit?
All over your hands and satin robe?
Thank you, Max. Love ya.
All over your hands and satin robe?
Thank you, Max. Love ya.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Sorrow and Anger
Well. It’s been a while. I had some stuff happen in my personal life that scared me off blogging for a bit (and I may at some point change my blog from public to private because of some of it), and after that I got really, really busy (more on that later). Some of the stuff I won’t get into here, some I will:
I met my friend eas through, of all things, a wedding planning website years & years ago. I attended her wedding and met her husband, and we’ve visited a few times over the years. She is a beautiful person who is wry, determined, practical, sensitive, and great to hang out with over margaritas. Her husband is a stand-up guy who is sweet, funny as hell, respectful and kind. Just about a month ago the worst thing that could happen, happened to them. Eas was 20 weeks pregnant and went into premature labor. Their son, Gabriel Ross, was born alive and died in their arms.
Many of our friends have written their support, and I have lagged behind. Every time I sit to try to write, my chest gets tight and tears start to well up in my eyes. I can’t write what is in my heart because it just seems so selfish and inappropriate. You see, this is how my little sister Emily died. All these years, all the childhood therapy and it just comes flooding back like it happened yesterday.
It wasn’t exactly the same, but I won’t go into too many details, for the sake of eas’ and my family’s privacy. Emily had hair. Hair! Thick, black hair, like mine. She looked like me. The picture of the sister I named but never got to meet is seared in my retinas. Her head was still conical from the birth. Some say it was a blessing – upon necropsy (they don’t call it autopsy on a stillbirth), they found that she had a hole in her heart that would have made her life difficult if not short. My parents told me we couldn’t have the remains, the hospital wouldn’t let us have them. Instead we planted a poplar tree in our back yard. The tree is still there, so tall and strong, like she never got to be.
And when I think of eas, this is all I can think of. So I waited to write. Got advice from a friend. Because this is her time of mourning, not mine. This is not about me. But it is something I have to get out of my system, something I need to talk about. I’ve been afraid of what to say to eas out of worry of imposing my feelings into the situation; I worry that my cautiousness has made me seem distant.
And I’m mad. As a sister, I’m sure that my pain does not compare to that of a mother losing her child. But I know the pain that I feel, and I’m mad that my friends have to feel the pain that my parents did. I’m mad that we as a species know so little about pregnancy and childbirth, and that we do so fucking little to expand our knowledge. I’m filled with rage at the completely inhuman way my friend was treated by the hospital staff when she was in the biggest crisis of her life, which was similar to the way my parents were treated. I’m mad that a quarter of a century later my parents still can’t bring themselves to talk about what happened in more than fragments, that I had to tell my little brother that he had not one, but two older sisters, that my mom could say nothing more but to confirm it. I’m mad that I still don’t tell people that I had two younger siblings, when they know only one is alive, because I don’t want to have to go into details. Only my husband knows everything about her life that I do. And I want to pour all this energy and love into eas, but I want to give her the space to mourn, too, without being burdened by my baggage. Because I love her and I want her to make it through this dark night and I know that she can because she is strong. So maybe I’ll just pray that Emily and Gabriel can find each other and play together and be at peace, wherever they are.
I met my friend eas through, of all things, a wedding planning website years & years ago. I attended her wedding and met her husband, and we’ve visited a few times over the years. She is a beautiful person who is wry, determined, practical, sensitive, and great to hang out with over margaritas. Her husband is a stand-up guy who is sweet, funny as hell, respectful and kind. Just about a month ago the worst thing that could happen, happened to them. Eas was 20 weeks pregnant and went into premature labor. Their son, Gabriel Ross, was born alive and died in their arms.
Many of our friends have written their support, and I have lagged behind. Every time I sit to try to write, my chest gets tight and tears start to well up in my eyes. I can’t write what is in my heart because it just seems so selfish and inappropriate. You see, this is how my little sister Emily died. All these years, all the childhood therapy and it just comes flooding back like it happened yesterday.
It wasn’t exactly the same, but I won’t go into too many details, for the sake of eas’ and my family’s privacy. Emily had hair. Hair! Thick, black hair, like mine. She looked like me. The picture of the sister I named but never got to meet is seared in my retinas. Her head was still conical from the birth. Some say it was a blessing – upon necropsy (they don’t call it autopsy on a stillbirth), they found that she had a hole in her heart that would have made her life difficult if not short. My parents told me we couldn’t have the remains, the hospital wouldn’t let us have them. Instead we planted a poplar tree in our back yard. The tree is still there, so tall and strong, like she never got to be.
And when I think of eas, this is all I can think of. So I waited to write. Got advice from a friend. Because this is her time of mourning, not mine. This is not about me. But it is something I have to get out of my system, something I need to talk about. I’ve been afraid of what to say to eas out of worry of imposing my feelings into the situation; I worry that my cautiousness has made me seem distant.
And I’m mad. As a sister, I’m sure that my pain does not compare to that of a mother losing her child. But I know the pain that I feel, and I’m mad that my friends have to feel the pain that my parents did. I’m mad that we as a species know so little about pregnancy and childbirth, and that we do so fucking little to expand our knowledge. I’m filled with rage at the completely inhuman way my friend was treated by the hospital staff when she was in the biggest crisis of her life, which was similar to the way my parents were treated. I’m mad that a quarter of a century later my parents still can’t bring themselves to talk about what happened in more than fragments, that I had to tell my little brother that he had not one, but two older sisters, that my mom could say nothing more but to confirm it. I’m mad that I still don’t tell people that I had two younger siblings, when they know only one is alive, because I don’t want to have to go into details. Only my husband knows everything about her life that I do. And I want to pour all this energy and love into eas, but I want to give her the space to mourn, too, without being burdened by my baggage. Because I love her and I want her to make it through this dark night and I know that she can because she is strong. So maybe I’ll just pray that Emily and Gabriel can find each other and play together and be at peace, wherever they are.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Work is da poop...and other obscure computer game references
My 28th birthday is coming up. It's the first time I feel a bit...sad about my birthday. I had a lot of goals, a lot of things I wanted to do before I turned 28 (most people pick like 30; I just roll a little different I guess). Some of them I've completed, but some of the bigger ones, I haven't, and those make me sad. I usually meet the goals I set out for myself, so not completing one is very disconcerting and demotivating to me. Also, I have to work on my birthday, and work is da poop.
Speaking of work, I have recently gotten some great results that really make my thesis project into a nice little (sexy!) story. The gene interaction I have found will really up the impact factor of my eventual paper, regardless of what I find next. I have a biological effect, backed by a known effector of the pathway, which is a very famous oncogene, and this interaction fits very well into a model of both normal brain development and medulloblastoma formation (which is what I am studying). There's more work to be done, of course, but I have a very solid foundation at this point which, in the context of thesis research (especially in my circumstances), is pretty fucking huge. So that's good. With hard work I think I can get out of here in 1.5 years maximum, 1 minimum, depending on if I'm lucky and all my experiments magically do not require troubleshooting :P
Speaking of work, I have recently gotten some great results that really make my thesis project into a nice little (sexy!) story. The gene interaction I have found will really up the impact factor of my eventual paper, regardless of what I find next. I have a biological effect, backed by a known effector of the pathway, which is a very famous oncogene, and this interaction fits very well into a model of both normal brain development and medulloblastoma formation (which is what I am studying). There's more work to be done, of course, but I have a very solid foundation at this point which, in the context of thesis research (especially in my circumstances), is pretty fucking huge. So that's good. With hard work I think I can get out of here in 1.5 years maximum, 1 minimum, depending on if I'm lucky and all my experiments magically do not require troubleshooting :P
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Disruption
Well, I broke my streak. A very close family member needed me, and I was unable to post. He is much better now, no worries :)
I will continue to write every day from this day foreward, until the end of this week, which would have been the original 4 weeks. More later.
I will continue to write every day from this day foreward, until the end of this week, which would have been the original 4 weeks. More later.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
The Crux
10PM and I'm seeking inspiration for a post. LB suggests I write about what's been on my mind; he knows what it is but I only just admitted it to him today. But I suppose with his blessing....
I was a bit cryptic in this post. The problem is, I want to have a kid, and LB doesn't. And I don't just want a kid in the abstract. I want one yesterday. My best years have come and gone, the aches and pains of getting older are already catching up with me (I realize this is a bit melodramatic for someone who's only almost 30; still fertility peaks in the early-mid 20's and I'm past that). Or maybe they're from stress; it hardly matters, since my career can only get more stressful from here.
And I know I have a good 1.5-2 years of school left, that we're in no financial position to have a kid and, even if we were, LB's responsibilities at the store would leave me with most of the childcare on top of going to school. But that doesn't change the longing in my heart, and it doesn't make it sting less every time I hear someone else is pregnant (I feel like the last person in the world who will recieve the honor; hell for all I know I'm infertile).
LB talks about how he'll be happy to have a kid once we're stable (he used to talk of kids without stipulation, before we were married). When we got married, stable meant a lot different of a thing than it means now. It has been a moving goalpost in our marriage. Every time we talk, he talks about maybe he just doesn't want a kid "right now" and when the time is right he'll want one. I'm skeptical. But otoh, I have had this same skepticism in our relationship before. Before we were engaged, we had dated for about 6 years. LB went on a month-long trip; while he was gone on that trip I decided, since he had fed me a line about not wanting to get married "right now" but maybe someday, that I'd give him until our lease was up, then I was moving on, since it didn't seem we were on the same page anymore. On that same trip LB decided to propose to me. So, you see, I have simultaneous hope and pessimism. I don't know what to believe, and my gut is so hurt it can't give me any hints. I don't know whether to wrench my heart from the person I love, or from the children I would love, or whether I even need to make that decision.
All I know is that my nightmare is to wake up one day and realize that the ship has sailed, and I will die childless.
I was a bit cryptic in this post. The problem is, I want to have a kid, and LB doesn't. And I don't just want a kid in the abstract. I want one yesterday. My best years have come and gone, the aches and pains of getting older are already catching up with me (I realize this is a bit melodramatic for someone who's only almost 30; still fertility peaks in the early-mid 20's and I'm past that). Or maybe they're from stress; it hardly matters, since my career can only get more stressful from here.
And I know I have a good 1.5-2 years of school left, that we're in no financial position to have a kid and, even if we were, LB's responsibilities at the store would leave me with most of the childcare on top of going to school. But that doesn't change the longing in my heart, and it doesn't make it sting less every time I hear someone else is pregnant (I feel like the last person in the world who will recieve the honor; hell for all I know I'm infertile).
LB talks about how he'll be happy to have a kid once we're stable (he used to talk of kids without stipulation, before we were married). When we got married, stable meant a lot different of a thing than it means now. It has been a moving goalpost in our marriage. Every time we talk, he talks about maybe he just doesn't want a kid "right now" and when the time is right he'll want one. I'm skeptical. But otoh, I have had this same skepticism in our relationship before. Before we were engaged, we had dated for about 6 years. LB went on a month-long trip; while he was gone on that trip I decided, since he had fed me a line about not wanting to get married "right now" but maybe someday, that I'd give him until our lease was up, then I was moving on, since it didn't seem we were on the same page anymore. On that same trip LB decided to propose to me. So, you see, I have simultaneous hope and pessimism. I don't know what to believe, and my gut is so hurt it can't give me any hints. I don't know whether to wrench my heart from the person I love, or from the children I would love, or whether I even need to make that decision.
All I know is that my nightmare is to wake up one day and realize that the ship has sailed, and I will die childless.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Resentment
How can you love someone so completely, and be so perfect for one another, except in one, heartbreaking way? How does this happen?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sore Throat from Hell
You know that feeling where your throat is so itchy and scratchy and painful, you want to rip it out of your neck?
Yeah. That's what I've been feeling the past few days. That along with a fever, disorientation, and the internet going in and out and in and out have left me with few post ideas and little time in which to post.
Oh! But! Garden update: The plants are still droopy, but I watered them some more and they're starting to look better. Still no rain here though, which I think would help immensely. We'll see, we'll see.
Yeah. That's what I've been feeling the past few days. That along with a fever, disorientation, and the internet going in and out and in and out have left me with few post ideas and little time in which to post.
Oh! But! Garden update: The plants are still droopy, but I watered them some more and they're starting to look better. Still no rain here though, which I think would help immensely. We'll see, we'll see.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Things I am Grateful For Today
- Sunshine
- Flowers
- Fresh Spring Air
- Allergy Medication
- French Food
- Wine
- Short Summer Dresses
- Rub-0n Tanner for showing off legs in said Short Summer Dresses
- A dog that knows not to answer the neighbor dog when he barks
- Advil
- Soft Kitties
- Snuggly Doggies
- Alone Time
- A healthy body
- More Advil to assist healthy body a day after too much weightlifting
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
The Body Issues Post
So I'm trying to lose weight. Again. I keep creeping up towards 150, then freaking out and dieting down to 140, so I can stay in the "normal" BMI range. I get successful at making the lifestyle changes; going to the gym, reducing portion sizes, then I get stressed out, then I stress eat (doritos and oreos are a staple!), stop going to the gym, and gain. It's hard though, because my body loves and loves to gain and hates and hates to lose. They say to lose 1 lb a week, you must have a difference between calorie output and calorie intake of about 500 calories a day. I have found that I maintain weight at that difference, and only start to lose weight at a difference of 700. Which is hard, let me tell you. So I reduce my intake by about 500 calories a day (which puts me just at the "minimum to not starve yourself" of 1200). Then I have to increase output (i.e. exercise) for the extra 200. That, at my weight, is about a half hour of running every day. Now I don't have time to go to the *#$@$&ing gym every day, there is just too much shit that needs to get done. So I try to walk to work (woohoo a measly 50), and when I do go to the gym I do an hour workout instead of just 30 minutes.
But that isn't what this post is about. You see, I can never seem to get a grip on how I feel about my body. I used to be one of those skinny-minny, can't gain weight if I try (seriously I even went to a doc about it) waif. I hated my body then. I got all sorts of sneers about how I must be anorexic or bulemic, envy for something I didn't want, and my body looked like, to me anyway, that of a prepubescent BOY. I felt unfeminine and hideous. Now, at the other end of the "normal BMI range," I still feel unfeminine. Sure I have boobs now, and hips (although that was more of a change in bone structure than weight alone), but I also have rolls and a beer gut. I also have...dun dun DUUUNNNNN!...thunder thighs. I am a "fat chick" in the eyes of many, much less ideal than my former underweight self. I hate myself in the mirror. I want to go back to that skinny 18 year old and tell her to learn to eat right, that even though she thought pounding down fries and pizza would help her gain weight and become acceptable, that really it was too much! That she was lucky she could find clothes that fit!
But then I think...so fucking what? So fucking what if I am 0.8 points "overweight"? My husband thinks I am sexy, I am pretty damn healthy if I do say so myself, and really, I do love my tits. I have nice tits and do not want to lose them! I love wine, I love dessert, and I can enjoy my food without having to constantly calculate how fat it is going to make me. There is so much shame thrown at a) fat people and b) fat women. And by fat I mean anything over a size fucking 6, because you and I and the world all know that it's the current fat threshold in pop culture, and even in medicine (thank the good lord I have a fat doctor; the one time I got a physical by someone skinny she told me "well being a little overweight is ok for now since you're in school and stressed, but you won't be able to get pregnant if you don't bring your BMI down to the normal range" orly, lady? I know pleeeeeeeenty of people over BMI over 24.9 who readily attained viable pregnancies).
So sure, weight is just a number, but no matter what the weight, if it isn't in a narrow definition of normalcy, there is all sorts of shame, faux concern and policing thrown at it. I see this and want to be comfortable in my body, and to love it like my husband loves it (well, hehe, not exactly like my husband loves it wink wink nudge nudge).
But I'm still trying to lose weight. And I suspect every time I creep up towards 150 I will. Sigh.
But that isn't what this post is about. You see, I can never seem to get a grip on how I feel about my body. I used to be one of those skinny-minny, can't gain weight if I try (seriously I even went to a doc about it) waif. I hated my body then. I got all sorts of sneers about how I must be anorexic or bulemic, envy for something I didn't want, and my body looked like, to me anyway, that of a prepubescent BOY. I felt unfeminine and hideous. Now, at the other end of the "normal BMI range," I still feel unfeminine. Sure I have boobs now, and hips (although that was more of a change in bone structure than weight alone), but I also have rolls and a beer gut. I also have...dun dun DUUUNNNNN!...thunder thighs. I am a "fat chick" in the eyes of many, much less ideal than my former underweight self. I hate myself in the mirror. I want to go back to that skinny 18 year old and tell her to learn to eat right, that even though she thought pounding down fries and pizza would help her gain weight and become acceptable, that really it was too much! That she was lucky she could find clothes that fit!
But then I think...so fucking what? So fucking what if I am 0.8 points "overweight"? My husband thinks I am sexy, I am pretty damn healthy if I do say so myself, and really, I do love my tits. I have nice tits and do not want to lose them! I love wine, I love dessert, and I can enjoy my food without having to constantly calculate how fat it is going to make me. There is so much shame thrown at a) fat people and b) fat women. And by fat I mean anything over a size fucking 6, because you and I and the world all know that it's the current fat threshold in pop culture, and even in medicine (thank the good lord I have a fat doctor; the one time I got a physical by someone skinny she told me "well being a little overweight is ok for now since you're in school and stressed, but you won't be able to get pregnant if you don't bring your BMI down to the normal range" orly, lady? I know pleeeeeeeenty of people over BMI over 24.9 who readily attained viable pregnancies).
So sure, weight is just a number, but no matter what the weight, if it isn't in a narrow definition of normalcy, there is all sorts of shame, faux concern and policing thrown at it. I see this and want to be comfortable in my body, and to love it like my husband loves it (well, hehe, not exactly like my husband loves it wink wink nudge nudge).
But I'm still trying to lose weight. And I suspect every time I creep up towards 150 I will. Sigh.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Go Go Gadget Gallimaufry
Uphevals
Well, I had to change labs. For those of you not in science PhD programs, that is a big, hairy deal. Basically? I lost 1-2 years off of my project.
In the end, though, it's a good thing. When I thought about spending another 2 years in that lab? I had panic attacks. I was scared and anxious every day. I was constantly (justifiably) scared of getting yelled at and called names. I had gastritis. My hair was starting to fall out. I couldn't have a conversation without getting defensive. Things were broken beyond repair.
There's so much more, but institutional policies, bla bla, plus, at this point, I just want to move on. I'm not afraid anymore and I want to keep it that way.
Since leaving? My stomach pains have all but disappeared. My hair has grown inches (in just 3 weeks!). My nails are suddenly so healthy I have to cut them every few days just so I can type without being annoyed. My relationship with my husband has improved dramatically, and I once again feel like, uh, gratifying him on a regular basis.
Life is good.
Let's get physical
So I am, like everyone and their brother, trying to lose weight. Not a lot, but started out slightly overweight and I'd like to get a little closer to the middle range of "normal" (according to the docs) before LB and I start trying to conceive (which, at this point, I have no idea when that's going to happen). I've been doing well, in bursts...10lbs gone since April! 10 more to go. Mostly it's a matter of developing healthy habits - eating well, drinking enough water, and exercising, none of which I was doing at the onset.
As a part of this, I've been going to aqua aerobics. It is awesome. It's me and like fifteen sexagenarians. So the other day, we are, as usual, dancin around to popular songs put to an aerobics beat, when the next song comes on. Dust In The Wind by Kansas. To a club beat. NNNN-TSSS NNNN-TSSS DUUUUUUUUUUST IN THE WIIIIIIIIIND NNNN-TSSS NNNN-TSSS NNNN-TSSS NNNN-TSSS And then I died a little inside.
When I finish my class, I head back to the locker room and take a shower. It just so happens that every Tuesday evening at 6:30, the gym gives tours to prospective new members. They pass through the locker rooms generally just after my post-aerobics shower, when I am changing back into my clothes, meaning they are often treated to me in gratuitous amounts of undress. That is how it came to pass that part of my gym routine every Tuesday evening is to flash my bare ass at random (innocent?) bystanders. I may not possess the sense of modesty to cover up, but hey, at least I'm polite enough to turn so they get booty instead of bush.
Deep Thoughts
Celebrity reality shows just wouldn't be the same without Danny Bonaduce.
I can't eat Fun'yns because they remind me of bunions and I'm convinced they'll taste like feet.
Getting out of a wet swimsuit is much more unpleasant than putting on a dry swimsuit.
Do all dogs think dead, rotten bird is THE scent that will drive ALL the ladies wild, or is it just mine?
I can't decide what is a worse wake-up call: Dog breath in my face or cat pouncing on my boob.
I like the word thesaurus. It engenders an image of a giant T-rex with a big ole book for its head rampaging through the jungle.
Dogs Rock
This video had me tearing up at work...and I'm not a crier!
Well, I had to change labs. For those of you not in science PhD programs, that is a big, hairy deal. Basically? I lost 1-2 years off of my project.
In the end, though, it's a good thing. When I thought about spending another 2 years in that lab? I had panic attacks. I was scared and anxious every day. I was constantly (justifiably) scared of getting yelled at and called names. I had gastritis. My hair was starting to fall out. I couldn't have a conversation without getting defensive. Things were broken beyond repair.
There's so much more, but institutional policies, bla bla, plus, at this point, I just want to move on. I'm not afraid anymore and I want to keep it that way.
Since leaving? My stomach pains have all but disappeared. My hair has grown inches (in just 3 weeks!). My nails are suddenly so healthy I have to cut them every few days just so I can type without being annoyed. My relationship with my husband has improved dramatically, and I once again feel like, uh, gratifying him on a regular basis.
Life is good.
Let's get physical
So I am, like everyone and their brother, trying to lose weight. Not a lot, but started out slightly overweight and I'd like to get a little closer to the middle range of "normal" (according to the docs) before LB and I start trying to conceive (which, at this point, I have no idea when that's going to happen). I've been doing well, in bursts...10lbs gone since April! 10 more to go. Mostly it's a matter of developing healthy habits - eating well, drinking enough water, and exercising, none of which I was doing at the onset.
As a part of this, I've been going to aqua aerobics. It is awesome. It's me and like fifteen sexagenarians. So the other day, we are, as usual, dancin around to popular songs put to an aerobics beat, when the next song comes on. Dust In The Wind by Kansas. To a club beat. NNNN-TSSS NNNN-TSSS DUUUUUUUUUUST IN THE WIIIIIIIIIND NNNN-TSSS NNNN-TSSS NNNN-TSSS NNNN-TSSS And then I died a little inside.
When I finish my class, I head back to the locker room and take a shower. It just so happens that every Tuesday evening at 6:30, the gym gives tours to prospective new members. They pass through the locker rooms generally just after my post-aerobics shower, when I am changing back into my clothes, meaning they are often treated to me in gratuitous amounts of undress. That is how it came to pass that part of my gym routine every Tuesday evening is to flash my bare ass at random (innocent?) bystanders. I may not possess the sense of modesty to cover up, but hey, at least I'm polite enough to turn so they get booty instead of bush.
Deep Thoughts
Celebrity reality shows just wouldn't be the same without Danny Bonaduce.
I can't eat Fun'yns because they remind me of bunions and I'm convinced they'll taste like feet.
Getting out of a wet swimsuit is much more unpleasant than putting on a dry swimsuit.
Do all dogs think dead, rotten bird is THE scent that will drive ALL the ladies wild, or is it just mine?
I can't decide what is a worse wake-up call: Dog breath in my face or cat pouncing on my boob.
I like the word thesaurus. It engenders an image of a giant T-rex with a big ole book for its head rampaging through the jungle.
Dogs Rock
This video had me tearing up at work...and I'm not a crier!
Saturday, June 7, 2008
ZOMG Craziness!
So the last week has been just nuts. But first, the good news: Remember how I was going to fail a class because I missed 3 sessions (I didn't even know GRAD SCHOOL had attendence sheesh)? Well, I was just informed yesterday that my petition for late withdrawal was approved. Woot! The email included something to the effect of "This is a one-time get out of jail free card. Savor it!" So that's a load off my back.
But the rest of my week? Pretty shitty.
So for the last 4 weeks or so, I have been feeling pukey along with what LB tells me was heartburn (he's the expert in that, and I personally have never had it before in my LIFE). Then in the last week, I started getting a constant sharp pain in my stomach, like some alien baby was thinking about poking its way out. I took a pregnancy test just in case, and it was negative within like 10 seconds (it's supposed to take 3 minutes), so that wasn't the cause. I figured I caught some bug or something, so I went to the doc. I have gastritis! The precursor lesion for an ulcer! At 26! The doc said the three causes at my age are usually excessive alcohol, excessive caffiene, or excessive stress. We could easily rule out alcohol and caffiene, since I have 1 a week and 2 a day, on average, respectively. Doc asks "Have you been under more stress than usual lately?" to which I laughed sadly and nodded my head. Let's see:
Last night LB and I spent a good 4 hours cleaning out the basement, aided by a window squeegee LB found at his store and a dehumidifier and two fans he borrowed from his parents. It was gross. It was sticky. It was stuffy. But the basement is more than half dry at this point. New water heater is coming in bright and early Monday morning to the tune of $800. Goodbye tax rebate.
Oh yeah and to prevent further flooding? We turned off the water. Because lucky us, we don't have separate hot and cold water shut offs. Nope. Just one. So I filled every jug and tub and nalgene last night. We're manually filling the tank of the toilet for every flush (and now we have to live by that disgusting phrase "If it's brown, flush it down; if it's yellow, let it mellow"), and he's showering at his parent's and I'm showering at the gym. Oy.
So. That's what I've been up to.
To borrow a meme from velocibadgergirl, Listening to: Today I hate everyone by The Perishers.
So the last week has been just nuts. But first, the good news: Remember how I was going to fail a class because I missed 3 sessions (I didn't even know GRAD SCHOOL had attendence sheesh)? Well, I was just informed yesterday that my petition for late withdrawal was approved. Woot! The email included something to the effect of "This is a one-time get out of jail free card. Savor it!" So that's a load off my back.
But the rest of my week? Pretty shitty.
So for the last 4 weeks or so, I have been feeling pukey along with what LB tells me was heartburn (he's the expert in that, and I personally have never had it before in my LIFE). Then in the last week, I started getting a constant sharp pain in my stomach, like some alien baby was thinking about poking its way out. I took a pregnancy test just in case, and it was negative within like 10 seconds (it's supposed to take 3 minutes), so that wasn't the cause. I figured I caught some bug or something, so I went to the doc. I have gastritis! The precursor lesion for an ulcer! At 26! The doc said the three causes at my age are usually excessive alcohol, excessive caffiene, or excessive stress. We could easily rule out alcohol and caffiene, since I have 1 a week and 2 a day, on average, respectively. Doc asks "Have you been under more stress than usual lately?" to which I laughed sadly and nodded my head. Let's see:
- The class thing which would have been my first failing grade EVER since that one pop math quiz when I had been out sick in 3rd grade.
- More work than usual because my advisor has turned in 3 grants in 1.5 months, with one more due in a week and a half.
- One postdoc had to stop working to wait for his visa to get renewed so A piled half his work on me, in addition to my own.
- We got 2 new lab members which I have had to train on top of postdoc's work and my own increased work load.
- A is being a raving lunatic and yelling at everyone for even thinking about maybe placing half a toe out of line or not being supercrazy productive or perfecter than perfect.
- I have my annual works-in-progress talk, an hour long talk about my research in front of the entire department, on Wednesday and my bi-annual thesis committee meeting the following day.
- My f-ing WATER HEATER DIED. It had been leaking (slowly) for a while but in the last week decided to leak rather quickly. And everything in the basement got moldy and the cats wouldn't go in their boxes (located in the basement) because the humidity was making their litter wet.
Last night LB and I spent a good 4 hours cleaning out the basement, aided by a window squeegee LB found at his store and a dehumidifier and two fans he borrowed from his parents. It was gross. It was sticky. It was stuffy. But the basement is more than half dry at this point. New water heater is coming in bright and early Monday morning to the tune of $800. Goodbye tax rebate.
Oh yeah and to prevent further flooding? We turned off the water. Because lucky us, we don't have separate hot and cold water shut offs. Nope. Just one. So I filled every jug and tub and nalgene last night. We're manually filling the tank of the toilet for every flush (and now we have to live by that disgusting phrase "If it's brown, flush it down; if it's yellow, let it mellow"), and he's showering at his parent's and I'm showering at the gym. Oy.
So. That's what I've been up to.
To borrow a meme from velocibadgergirl, Listening to: Today I hate everyone by The Perishers.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
