It's true. It never ends.

Things have been very busy the past few weeks. And by busy, I mean that the clock has been literally crammed up my ass and using its arms to puppeteer mine.

Let me break this shit down.

Thursday, I had my first committee meeting. Holy fucking shit does it take some acrobatics and persistence to get four extremely busy people to agree on a time to sit in a room. My boss - by far the busiest of all due to her administrative duties - took one for the team and missed something important to go to this meeting. Man, she is the best.

Back in August, when I did my defense, I proposed a big stinking impossible pile of shit that I knew was a piece of shit. They all expressed doubt, but let me proceed. In the months since, I came to the conclusion that they were right. It was, in fact, far shittier and impossible than I had imagined. So I started a new project.

The boss then gave me one week to write a revised proposal. Two days later, she asked me to review a paper for a big journal. And I have to give a departmental seminar in two weeks. FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUU!

The knife just kinda sat there, twisting slowly in the gaping wound around my liver.

Anyway, I got it all done. Although I felt thoroughly prepared, I was slightly nervous about my committee meeting. Dr. Impossible Questions didn't show up, we were in a shitty, tiny room that was awkward for presentations, but I went ahead and started my presentation.

It is a wonderful feeling to take a swing and feel like you hit it out of the motherfucking park - and that's what it felt like during the presentation. I'm a perfectionist. I wish I wasn't, but I am. I always want to be the best that I can possibly be, because why do something if you're not going to do it all the way? And man, this was the first time I have ever been perfectly satisfied with one of my presentations. They told me they wish they could bottle up my enthusiasm and distribute it to the other grad students, and that I've set the bar higher for what they expect. Holy fuck man, I was fucking proud of myself. Even better, I let myself be proud of myself. It felt so amazing.

I'm not trying to boast here or anything. Things have been going great in the lab, but I've still felt in limbo. Am I a real scientist? How much longer do I have to go? Do I have what it takes - the ideas, the balls, the luck - to be one of the guys that everyone knows? Will I ever feel competent enough? I don't know. But I do know that I fucking nailed my committee meeting, and I'm one step closer. All the hard work is actually starting to pay off.

I wish I could bottle this feeling up and give it to all the nameless faces fighting the good fight along with me. But since I can't, I will tip back a few beers for everyone who needs a boost after this long winter. The spring is coming. I promise.

404 Error: Synapse no longer exists

This has been a never-ending week. I did a huge experiment. Like, huge. Usually when I do these huge experiments, I inevitably fuck up something. Once I was harvesting cells at 6 different time points, one of which had to be done at midnight. I came in, harvested the cells, put them in the centrifuge - and then forgot about them and went home. The whole thing was ruined. I just looked in the centrifuge in the morning and stared at it for a few minutes, hating myself and everything. I had to do it all again. Because I am retarded.

Amazingly, though, everything worked this week. Also, it's horrible that everything worked. I've barely slept, and I'm so tired right now that I'm forgetting simple things. Thank fuck for spell check.

At any rate, it's good to be back to the bench at full-throttle. Maybe I'm getting older, or maybe I just hit it too hard to quickly after being at my desk writing for so long, but I am fucking knackered to fuck.

Thankfully, no weekend work is required. I am already dreaming of my bed. I'm just waiting for those last few washes to tick away, and then it's time for home and beer. But at the same time, I am already wishing for next week when I start getting the results. It's going to be awesome.

Yo Teach

I've neglected to discuss a very large area of commitment that has taken over my life: teaching. I think it has a lot to do with the the fact that teaching is totally masochistic, and I was a little embarrassed to admit my desire to destroy myself even more slowly and painfully than if I were just in lab all the time. But what the hell, here I am. Teaching.

Last semester I was responsible for a single lecture in a graduate-level course. As with everything I do, it ended up taking a lot longer to prepare the lecture than I originally thought. I had to learn some things, re-learn some things, and try to keep it from being stuffy but thorough at the same time. I thought very hard about all the things I complained about my first year in grad school in regards to shitty courses and aimed to do the opposite.

According to the class feedback, I succeeded. They loved it. I was so fucking happy, because this time I felt like it really counted. The people here in the lab tell me that I'm a good teacher, but I can't help but feel that they are blowing smoke up my ass. To hear it from an unbiased source through anonymous evaluations really meant a lot.

Then they took my portion of the exam.

The other instructors did multiple choice, but not me. And holy fuck did they bomb my section. I failed 2/3 of the class while two people received 100%. The reason that they failed was that they didn't answer the question that I asked. I have to know - how the fuck do you NOT answer the question? I don't understand! It was infuriating. I mean, the exam was open book and open note. What the fuck?? It was very disheartening and it totally deflated me. But damnit, I'm not dropping my standards.

So I found out earlier this week that I am now one of the co-organizers of the course for this year. I also found out that we have to completely overhaul the course and build it back from the ground up.

What have I done? At least I will be making bartenders and brewers very happy for all of 2011.

Shit.

Failure Haiku #2

Holy shit, this dumb
Assay finally worked. Beer
Is now optional.

In my opinion...

I haven't mentioned Lady Lab Dragon in a while, because, well, that's an interesting situation.

Lady Lab Dragon, as some might recall, made my life hell for an entire summer. In short, I developed this new assay, we argued over whether or not it worked (it did), and as a result she would not talk to me or help me in any way for several months. Because of this, the other people in the lab also stopped talking to me. To resolve this situation, I had to pretend to need her help. Then she was cool with me again. Seriously.

This woman is one of those people who thinks that the entire lab would crumble if she wasn't there. I'm certain that she believes she knows more than our boss. Because of this, she thinks that she is our boss. She won't get her own ice - she asks a postbac to do it. She doesn't do any routine ordering or anything. She also informed me that I should have shared my dissertation proposal with her before turning it in. I believe she secretly wishes us to genuflect when she comes through the door.

So for the last few months, almost every day, she has come to me to tell me about what she thinks I should be working on. It is always prefaced with "In my opinion". In my opinion, you should be working on X project. In my opinion, you should do this experiment with ABC timepoints. In my opinion, you should use this cell line.

Fucking. Hell.

I've talked to my boss about how I want to try for a "superpostdoc" position. The boss is cool with this and is totally supporting me. My boss is fucking rad and totally leaves me alone to fall on my face, rather than tell me no about something crazy she puts me in contact with people who can help me, and in general she just knows how to handle me. She's never told me what to do - she offers suggestions. It's wonderful. The constant input from Lady Lab Dragon is the exact opposite of what I need and want.

I wish that I could tell her to stop, but then I'm certain she would stop talking to me again. This would be very bad news. I need to discuss ideas and projects with people. Sometimes saying something out loud makes you realize that it's a stupid idea. Furthermore, someone may have tried what you want to do and can offer advice, or they can explain to you while it might be more difficult than you think. So if I say something to her, all of this will go out the window. Again.

In my opinion, she needs to grow up and start acting like a professional. One can dream. I am still constantly amazed that scientists can be so fucking childish and/or retarded.

The last of the vomit paper tags

I took some time off. I went home for Christmas break and totally fucking relaxed. Why? Because the vomit paper was accepted! Fuck yeah!

Maybe I built it up a little too much, but I felt more relief than excitement. Don't get me wrong - I am totally fucking stoked that I kicked the shit out of that big lab full of fucking idea-stealing cunts. But really, once I received the email the first thing I thought of was "I'm never going to have to look at that fucking paper ever again."

The vomit paper went through too many drafts. I spent an entire day trying to make my figures cooperate and look nice at publication-quality resolution. I had to stand my ground and fight to write in active voice, but other people's shitty sentence structure ended up in the text. Oh well.

It's fucking published.

The vomit paper endeth?

Well, I re-submitted the vomit paper. I've been obsessively checking recent publications to see if Fuctardio scooped me - but nothing has come up yet. So it looks like I just might have beat that group of assholes. I am not sure, of course, but I'm trying to stay optimistic. For once.

Submitting a paper is shitty. I really don't understand why it should take so long to do, and why there are always problems uploading documents. Wrong format. Session timed out. Randomly omitting a figure file. It's fucking horrible! For some reason, I couldn't upload my shit at work - so I had to go home to submit my paper. This is the kind of shit that makes people crazy. My PI said that it was actually easier to submit when you had to physically mail in the draft and figures. Man, I love irony.

So here I am, finally at peace for the first time since about January. It's been a crazy year. I mean, I'm not really done yet - I have to give a lecture in a few weeks that I have not started preparing yet. But hey, at least it's better than writing a paper, addressing and writing a paper revision, written comps and oral comp exams.

I got the feeling earlier this year that the stress will never end. There will always be something that I have to do, things I have to put off until the last minute, and things that will keep me up at night. It's for real now, man. There's no stopping it. I am a scientist.

Fuck me. I thought I was doing this to avoid a real job for the rest of my life. It reminds me of a little poem I wrote a few years back:

As it turns out, I was mistaken.
The unifying theory to all I've said and done is this:
I am learned, but I will never learn.

The scoop

Fuck, man. I could get scooped. Seriously.

I've been working on my project for almost three years. Since I thought I was going to submit it last fall, I presented my findings at a poster session. I went to a conference this week, and a huge name in my field essentially presented my data. I went cold and clammy. I thought my liver was going to rupture with fury.

This project has been crazy from the start. I had a really unique finding, but no one believed me. My boss tried to get me working on something else several times. I've documented pretty well how I was met with resistance by my lab mates. At the conference where I first presented the data, I saw people pointing at my poster and laughing. I got laughed at again this week.

I was really doubting myself for a while, and honestly I was a little scared to publish the data. Part of me felt so vindicated seeing him present what are essentially my findings. His conclusions were the same as mine. The mechanism was the same. I wish that I hadn't been so scared. I've said before that data don't lie, but like most things I didn't follow my own advice. And I could pay for it.

Of course, now that this titan is trying to publish almost the exact same research I have done, it means I have more weight behind my findings. But still - the dude is so well known and so successful that I am amazed he is trying to scoop me. Isn't his success enough? Apparently not. To make the matter worse, I really idolized this guy. Talk about some bitter disappointment.

Now they don't know my paper is already submitted and in revision. I'm hoping to have it in by the end of next week. I don't think I will get rejected, because it it a very mild review. I just hope to fuck they don't have theirs submitted too. It's an arms race - and I only have two arms. He has an army.

But I have to say, it will be the best feeling in the world to scoop a big lab like that. It might be petty, but that is what keeps me even more motivated to publish than I already was. Because fuck them. They fucked with the wrong person.

Failure Haiku

Kan resistant, but
Plated bacteria on
Amp-filled agar. Fuck.

My first venture in to comics

Gettin' my defense on

So the defense of my research proposal is over, and I fucking passed it. Awesome.

I was worried going in, because I was absolutely certain that one of my committee members hates me and another gets bored easily and lashes out with impossible questions. Dr. Impossible Questions did not disappoint - I spent the first twenty minutes of the defense explaining to him why my research is important. He just kept saying "Who cares?" Finally, another committee member came to my rescue, said word-for-word what I had said, and Dr. Impossible was satisfied.

Now my presentation differed in that I had data. I turned in my proposal three months before I defended it - and I wasn't just sitting on my arse the whole time. Halfway through my presentation of my first specific aim, they stopped me and said they didn't want to see any more data. In fact, they told me to forget about the presentation and just started firing away with questions. I tried not to look crushed that they were dismissing a presentation that took me two weeks of hard work to put together.

Now since I am a person who writes things like this little blog for fun, I try to make what I write sound good. One thing I do not like is repeatedly using the same word over and over (and over!). As a result, my committee spent ten minutes making fun of me for using "I believe" instead of "I hypothesize." I totally get why they harped on me for it, but the ten minutes were maybe a tad overboard.

Once all was over, they told me that I passed and that I did a good job - but I need to work on my writing. I knew going in that my proposal was a festering turd of a writing exercise and I thought I could get away with it. So uh, so far I am 0 - 1000 in trying to get away with subpar shit. You'd think I might have learned something by now, but no. I fucking hate scientific writing. As a lover of writing it pains me to say that, but I really do. Fuck passive tense!

It feels so fucking good to be an official PhD candidate - to know that there is just one more major hurdle to getting my PhD. It felt good immediately, and I still feel good about it. Several times, I've mistakenly thought that a milestone would give me some validation. For example, I thought that successfully passing all of my classes would make me feel different somehow. It didn't. This totally did, and it's fucking great.

The Proposal Returns

I submitted my research proposal on June 9th. I had these grand plans for its total awesomeness, but in the end I'm kinda ashamed of it. It's embarrassing for me to read. However, this is mostly due to the constricting format and page limits. I mean, how am I supposed to talk in-depth about several large research projects - with an introduction - in fifteen double-spaced pages? I can't without sounding like a moron.

So flash forward to last week, when I was on vacation. I get the email saying that my proposal was approved to move to the next stage: oral defense. Man, I am not looking forward to this.

As is typical of my university, I've spent the last week trying to wrangle together my oral defense committee (ODC). This is not easy. Apparently, this is never easy. A week after my initial emails went out, I still have yet to hear from one member. My defense is in one week.

It's good that this came along, because I was starting to feel like things were actually running smoothly.

So I'm working on my presentation. Or, rather, I'm looking that the screen intently while I slouch in my chair with my hands in my pockets. This is the phase where I try (unsuccessfully) to make everything come together with the power of my mind. It never works, but I have to do it. This also means that I will have to move in to the next phase some time this afternoon, where I curse and hate my life a little more than I do right now.

Here is what I like to call, My Exact Response to Everything I Have to Do, or The Five Stages of Lab Grief:

1. Denial. "Oh I have to do that? No problem. That's fucking easy."
   
2. Forgetfulness. "Wasn't there this big thing I was suppose to do?"
   
3. Aviodance. "Oh yeah, that thing. Uh, I have this experiment I better do first."
   
4. Desked. "I'm working on this! Really hard, like right now! Wait, I have some email to check. Oh yeah, and what was that thing I wanted to buy? I better go to Amazon to browse until I can remember it. Who was that chick who was in that movie last night? Better go to IMDB. Hey, I have a intro slide that just says "Introduction". Man, I need to take a break. But I'm working hard when I get back. For REALS."
   
5. Mania/Depression. "Oh fuck I only have the rest of the day to finish this. I'm going to work my ass off! I have to! I work better under pressure, man! Yay!". Then: "I hate science. I hate my life. This presentation is embarrassing and shitty. I'm going to look stupid like I always do. Why do I always leave things until the last minute? I swear I will never, ever do it again."
   

Rinse with beer. Repeat ad nauseam.

So I am scurrying to finish my presentation today for a practice run in front of the lab tomorrow. At least the whole affair will be over soon. I think.

I swear, I have spent nearly the entire time as grad student - now at the beginning of the third year - totally shitting myself. So really, grad school is a long, drawn out process of tempering homicidal and/or suicidal instincts mixed with the constant feeling of shitting yourself, feeling lousy and retarded, and being poor.

Sign me the fuck up!

Vomit Paper: Endless Shittiness

So The Vomit Paper was not rejected. Holy fucking shitballs. I sincerely thought that the motherfucker (and his minions) who made me look like an asshole during a plenary session at our field's major conference would have shredded it. I mean, the dude stood up on the stage and - before he started his talk - specifically stated that my results were not possible. Who does that shit? A motherfucker.

Alas, the reviewers had just a few simple revisions. Awesome.

The problem is that I have to do more experiments. These experiments are not working. Fuck Murphy and his fucking law. Fuck my damn cells for not behaving. Fuck Invitrogen for backordering essential materials to finish my shit. Fuck the lack of good antibodies. Fuck. FUCK!

I am taking a few days off for vacation. No matter when they are scheduled, or how short they are, vacations always fuck up everything. Like now, for instance, as I hover around in revision limbo.

My plan is to drown out the guilt and pressure with beer and Mexican food. My life would be so much easier if there were decent Mexican food around here.

This fucking kid...

Holy shit, let me tell you about This Fucking Kid (TFK).

TFK is in high school, and received some funding from the high skool to come and work in a lab. TFK chose our lab for some reason. Hooray for free slave labor, right?

Wrong. WRONG!

I've made it pretty clear that I like working with students. It means a lot to me, because I want kids to have a good experience in the lab - and not at all like some of the horrors I had to endure as an undergrad. I make sure to explain everything until they appear to understand, always ask if they have questions, and give them a sound foundation of methodological principles. At least I hope I do.

But This Fucking Kid officially wrecked my patience. Day one, I walked over to TFK and said, "OK! Ready to get to work?" TFK looks at me, eyes rolling, and says, "Not really."

Uh...

So I proceed to tell this kid my rules/expectations. They are as follows:

Rule 1: Our time is precious. If someone shows you a technique, he or she is taking time away from a project that needs to get done. Do not waste time. Respect this, and make sure to give thanks for the lesson. Once you have mastered the technique, ask your teacher if you can run any assays for him or her. Remember to give back.

Rule 2: TAKE NOTES. I don't care how kick ass a scientist you are, you are not going to remember a technique simply by observing, and learning by osmosis just isn't going to happen. Write shit down. If I get a reagent out of the fridge, write down which fridge it came from. Write down the shelf or box it was from. Look at the label, and copy down what is says on the label. Do this, and you will never have to ask where something is ever again. Write down when to turn on the heat block, or when to take things out to thaw. Take notes when I give you a little explanation of why I am doing something. If I draw out a figure for you, maybe keep it with your notes. I'm not doing this for fun. Your goal should be to take detailed enough notes that you can successfully complete a protocol with very minimal help the very first time you try it, because of Rule 1.

Rule 3: Don't fuck with anyone's shit. This is a blanket rule, and what I really mean is don't do anything that will compromise the results of a lab mate. Do not use a reagent that belongs to someone else without asking. Do not take something off someone's bench without asking. DO NOT TURN OFF A TIMER IF IT IS BEEPING (unless you write down the time you stopped it). Do not do a shitty job prepping lab stocks of media, autoclaved materials, etc.

TFK worked with me a few days, but never took notes. If I gave a recipe for a buffer, it was not written down (or not written down correctly). Eyes kept rolling. There was no enthusiasm. So finally, one hot afternoon around 4:30, the kid asked me if I could hang around for another two hours to finish an experiment because it was time to go home. This kid fucked around all afternoon, started this experiment too late, and expected me to finish things. I snapped.

Needless to say, TFK stays away from me these days. I heard, though, that the kid now takes excellent notes.

Schrödinger rationalizes some unresolved anger

I recently found, on teh interwebz, a digital copy of a record that I absolutely adored when I was a wee lass. For reals, I nearly wept. I have purchased this record three times in my life. Copy 1 was used as a scratching post by my cat. Copy 2 mysteriously disappeared from my record collection. I tracked down copy 3 in Germany, and let me just say that it was quite an adventure navigating the all-German website to buy the damn thing. Since my turntable is back home in AZ, I wasn't able to play it right away. I discovered, months later, that copy 3 had a fine scratch that causes the damn thing to skip. Fuck me.

So I found this gem online and downloaded it. I love how after 12 years I still know every word. Awesome.

I was (and continue to be) a huge fan of punk rock. In fact, I can always tell how much the lab is sucking my soul by how much punk I listen to at work. It's a directly proportional relationship. More hatred = more punk rock. That being said, I never called myself a "punk." It just felt dirty - the reason being that by the time I started listening to it, punk was very dead.

I've long felt that punk is like Schrödinger's cat. What is Schrödinger's cat, you say? It's my favorite quantum paradox. Since quantum physics is pretty hard to comprehend, this paradox attempts to explain to us chimps the nature of subatomic particles in quantum states. For example, electrons, as they orbit the nucleus, can spin "up" or "down". The electrons in an object such as your body will spin both "up" and "down" at the same time. This is called a superposition of states.

Since this doesn't really make sense to us in the real world, Schrödinger came up with this theoretical scenario in which a cat is put in a totally enclosed box with a radioactive isotope, a geiger counter, and some poisonous acid. If the isotope decays, the geiger counter detects the radiation and releases the acid - which, of course, kills the cat. Equally likely, the isotope may not decay and the cat will remain alive. Since the box is totally enclosed, we will not know what happens until we open the box. Therefore, the cat is both dead and not dead - a superposition - until we "perform a measurement" and open the box. In so doing, we force the superposition in to a particular outcome: the cat will be dead, or it will not be dead. We forced it to adopt a state by measuring it.

Such as it is with punk rock. It existed only as punk rock until it was called punk rock. Then it was, as Schrödinger might say, dead. The very idea and nature of punk rock, arising organically out of the ether and totally anti-mainstream, stopped being punk as soon as someone called it punk and gave it a face and a uniform. I mean, it's an even bigger paradox to be against the mainstream while being a mainstream movement. It still exists as a genre of music, but as a movement? Nope.

Of course I'm sure some people might not like this interpretation, but fuck it. I'm not saying that individuals can't have the spirit of punk rock - far from it. There are tons of vagabonds who could easily be described as such. But to wear the uniform is just plain silly. It's no different than a poodle skirt.

These are the things I think about when I can't sleep. Then I think about my proposal and I'm quickly in dreamy-dream land.

Some good news

I have successfully passed written comps. This is fan-fucking-tastic, because I was pretty sure one of the professors was going to fail me on one section. So, yay! That is the last exam I will ever have to take, which is awesomeness to the power of Avogadro's number.

Even better is the fact that they are giving me 4-6 weeks from today to write my proposal, rather than 4 weeks from the date of the exam - which is what I thought. So I got a ton of stuff done, very early. Now I can take a few days off to relax and celebrate! Woohoo!

Also, I submitted the vomit paper. Finally. I know it's supposed to be bad luck or something to disseminate the actual submission to the zero people that read this, but it has to be said. It took almost a year longer than originally anticipated, but it's fucking gone. For now.

I'm probably getting rejected, but I don't care anymore. I hate the vomit paper. It must die.

The Desk Months

Well, the qualifying exam is over. I think. And by that, I mean I am not too sure how I did on one section. I was essentially told to study a recipe for making bread, and all related bread-making technique and theory, then asked to come up with a cake recipe for the exam. The questions on this particular section had nothing to do with the papers I was given.

Fun.

Anyway, it's been nearly two weeks now and I still don't have my results. I was the only one taking the exam. So, yeah. These professors have never been very good at getting exams back in a timely manner, so I'm not sure why I'm so surprised. But I am! Because I am incredibly naïve!

So now I have two weeks left to do my proposal, which is a load of fun right after finishing my paper. The past few months have really been a nightmare. Paper, quals, proposal, not much bench work, gum-chewer returning to the lab to sit next to me. It's so much fun. All I want to do are experiments - but I can't. I have to write. Shit.

I can't wait until it's all done. I feel ready to leave, but that means I still have a few more years ahead of me. Of course.

Quals

I am on the eve of my qualifying exam. I've spent the last two weeks studying like a crazy person. I chained myself to a desk in the library and poured over the seventeen papers I am to know back and forward. Since I am to have "broad expertise" in these subjects, seventeen papers turned in to something over thirty once I printed out selected reviews from the reference section. If I'm being honest, it's probably the most I've prepared for in exam in the history of me taking exams.

Yesterday I had to give a seminar to my fellow students. I hadn't slept the night before because a) I hate giving seminars, and b) I was thinking about the exam. I sat in the library, bleary-eyed and nodding off, my hand clawed around various coffee delivery systems. I had so much caffeine that I nearly spazzed out during seminar, and I talked so fast that I don't think anyone understood what the hell I was talking about. No one cared, though; we all wanted to go home.

Despite all of this, and the fact that my boss is on my ass about submitting my paper, I felt a sudden calm wash over me. I went to the library again today, only this time I was only there for about thirty minutes before I started nodding off. I decided it was time to come home.

I can't possibly look at these papers anymore. I am sick of looking at them. I've decided to say no to more studying. Tomorrow I will have to sit from 9am-12pm, then 2pm-5pm, and then I get to do it all over again on Friday. No, I am not going to study any more. There is no way that I could keep all of this information straight in my head - there is just too much to know. Something is bound to fall off the bookshelf if I stack any more nugs of information in the ol' brain library.

I am done.

So this afternoon I came home and I watched Amadeus. I think I might take a nap. For I am starting to actually believe, for once, that everything is going to work out ok. This is, after all, the last exam I will ever have to take. I've spent the last five years preparing for it. If I pass, I will deserve it. If I fail, I will deserve it. But right now, I am starting to feel tired - and I will not feel the least bit guilty if all I do for the rest of today is sleep. And you know what? Even the idea of it feels pretty damn good to me.

FML

I am so overwhelmed. I had plans for my birthday this weekend, but I have to cancel them. Fuck. Work.

Work hazard: Frost bite

So, I have a question: Is EVERY lab in the world freezing as hell? I would really like to know. Seriously.

My lab is a fucking ice box. Even though our building is less than 10 years old, the facilities managers have no idea how to keep it at an appropriate temperature. Even in the middle of the summer, I'm walking around here in sweaters and I have a portable radiator on next to me. On occasion, I will pull that radiator beneath my desk and practically straddle the damn thing to keep myself anywhere near warm. One or two times, I put on my big puffy jacket at my desk and worked with my hat and knit gloves on. Awesome.

I get it - the lab should be kept cold in order to improve general sterility. But seriously, man. Why does it have to be that cold? Why?

On another completely different note, I just ate the worst banana I have ever eaten in my life. Holy shit. I fucking love bananas, but that could put me off of them for quite a long time.

Damn.