I'm Not Calling You a Ghost, But...

You're just the gift that keeps on giving, sweetling. Even in my dreams you come to remind me how happy you are without me. Thanks for waking me up early though, that's awesome too.

Pediform Pedantry

If you make a fool of yourself but no one is around to see, does it really count? So, I'll tell you about it.

Today, I left the house without wearing socks for probably the first time since I left the neonatal unit. I bought sandals the other day, and it feels like a great adventure. They're actually quite modestly covered so you don't have to see my feet, but still provide all the fresh air and comfort that a sockless shoe promises.

As I've been lax in exercising, I also brought gym clothes with me today, fresh from the laundry. You may see where this is going.

It occurred to me just now that to don my gym shoes without any socks would be uncomfortable at best, and at worst a leading cause of plantar fasciitis. Luckily, I thought of this before I made it to the locker room only to stare in dismay at my unshod feet.

So there you have it: life is never dull if you set the bar low enough. And can laugh at yourself. Tonight will finally be nice enough out to take my new shoes for a spin around the neighbourhood.

Neighbor. Neighboor. Loud neighbors are neigh-boors. I won't Google that to find out I wasn't the first-- you shall not dull my triumph!

Don't Be Scared, I've Done This Before

They're installing potted plants in the building now. About damn time. The yet-empty pots filled with freshly turned soil fill the building with the aroma of earth. Remarkably refreshing, it is. I look forward to planting time, getting my hands dirty. It's tempting to imagine that my bare skin grants something of me to the soil, to the roots. Maybe we all just want to be God.

The last month went by quickly. Didn't make the gym much lately. Was sick, and spiraled out of control a little bit. Trying to drag myself there this afternoon, through the haze of lethargy and not enough sleep. Then we'll find out if my ID card will still work to get me in there, heh.

The other morning I heard "American Woman" playing on the radio. In abstract I had always agreed with it, so it's odd to find myself in a concrete position and thinking that maybe he was being a little premature and prejudiced.

Hanging By A Moment

I put this song on my mp3 player a while ago with a bunch of other songs from a compilation CD. They're all from the early 2000s, so in my mind they're all recent even though the disc came out in '03. Anyways, I wasn't sure why I included this song, it's about falling for someone and letting go of what you had before, themes which mingled bitterly with my post-break-up mindset. Today, it rolls along in the Shuffle and it sinks its hooks deep into me. It's "me" now, partially (because no one earthly song is ever representative of the whole). I'm smiling and it's more sweet than bitter. Past me is, occasionally, kind.

Yeah, smiling. It's not like I ever stopped. There's always funny things around, even if you have to laugh at yourself sometimes. But smiling, now... it's like re-reading your prescription label and realizing it says TWO a day, smart guy. It's like discovering you've been driving in third gear the whole time-- you get there, but with more grumbling and less energy than you would have liked. It's like some kind of analogy about how good it feels to smile more often. "I'm like a shark. I've just got to... keep making analogies."

I may elaborate at some point, if my loyal following clamors for more. Or my smiles could dissolve into a dew like so much early morning frost... I don't dwell on it but that's always a possibility, and the nightmare haunting the dark corners of my mind. I trust my instincts though, and so far they just say yes. The only question I have for now is for how long smiles can trump sleep.

Here We Stand

I think I sweat my words out. Not much to say at this point, except instead of a number the heart rate monitor on the bike should just show a picture of a frightened rodent. Anyways, I totally outworked Her Grace and the Kingslayer today. Also, I may have almost passed out. I'm either making myself stronger or killing myself, which in my books is a win-win.

Why am I here?

There's really nothing like an encouraging seminar by your faculty to make you really doubt your life path.

To hear Dr. Ryerson tell it, your job in academia is to get your name recognized. Publish, go to conferences and mingle, win awards. There's something so callous and beauty-pageant about this view, this de-emphasis of the joys of discovery and science, and yet hearing it yesterday wasn't anything new. It's a prevailing view, I fear, in today's universities everywhere that output is more important than process. Little wonder, than, that Nature and Science are the pinnacles of modern publishing to the public eye, with their hundreds of half-page sound-byte articles that ultimately say very little.

Where do I come in to this? I've grown up wanting to be recognized for being smart, not for attaching my name to as many disparate projects as possible. Am I really signing up for a lifetime of acting as a cog in the great academic circle-jerk? Will real accomplishments in my research matter one whit if I don't use the right font on my poster?

I feel like I've been far too naive and idealistic in looking at this. I can't possibly hope to crouch beneath the establishment and shift its inertia and survive. I'm definitely not sure that I'm doing what I want to be doing. Moreover, I'm not sure of what I want to do. You're supposed to have that figured out by the time you get your bachelor's. Ugh, what an ill-omened name that degree has.

Is there still joy to be found in discovery behind these ivory walls? Is there any science done for the sake of discovery? Is there any place for this poor scholar in the game of academia?

Continuing Adventures of Whats-his-name

Hit the gym again today. Mostly a brisk walk, tried the elliptical machine for about five minutes but I just could not find a rhythm on that contraption. I felt and looked lot like QWOP with a little bit of the store thrown in. Luckily, I had an apathetic audience. The happy couple arrived near the end of my 45 minute session, and unfortunately by then I was too tired to remember the advice of my friend for just such a situation: "Vomit on them! Like a turkey vulture!"