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I think I am hacking up a lung, here. Seriously, cough, whatever you are, please go away soon. I'm running out of DayQuil and I keep sleeping past my alarm clock and I am getting no work done.

On top of the rest of it, I have nothing to do now at work but put out my final paper for the semester and write that grant proposal. Which at least requires no hand-eye coordination, so when I collapse into coughing fits that leave me doubled over and miserable I haven't actually destroyed anything. Still, they are not nearly as fun as collecting data.

Also, if I never see another mug of chamomile tea with honey in it, it will be too soon. At least I'm finally making a dent in that supply of chamomile my mother gave me way back in 2008.
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I'm a mess right now. I admit it. God, I hate moving. And now there is a family Mediterranean cruise in the works, so I need to talk to Dr. W tomorrow to see if I can take my final early and go with my parents. (I hope I can, but secretly I don't believe it will happen. I usually don't.) And there's commuting tomorrow--I should be in bed right now--and I've been alternately dealing and freaking out over tiny things and flipping out.

I ended up getting frustrated about my dog obsession for the first time today. I need to get some friends who Get It, or at least stop feeling guilty for really boring people about it. Or something. And I blew up about my weight today, too. Normally I don't get upset about either one--I think it's just the underlying stress of Everything Else going on--but I wish it would stop.

I just realized I won't be in Athens for a single weekend this May, what with the Middle Sister's graduation and this theoretical cruise and this Week of Hell. I'll be lucky not to do badly in this course, which would really suck. 
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Oh god, the rain. It's like the clouds opened up and decided to drown us all.
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So I was sitting in Dr. M's class today, and he brought up the menu conundrum; that is, as the number of choices available increases, the level of anxiety and fear about making one increases. His particular example was the habit of educated college students not being able to choose what to do with their lives, because it's all on us to decide. He argued that without tradition, and without really being encouraged or able to seek advice from older adults about what they thought we should do, it became the burden of the young person to come up with a life path completely from scratch--and he pointed out just how difficult and terrifying having to do that really is.

And it was all I could do not to burst out laughing. Bitterly. My entire life revolves around trying to find a path of meaning after throwing aside the central construction to the "accepted" path of the culture I live in. I mean, romance is so important to our cultural narratives that we can't even tell a single story without making a subplot for the main character to begin a romantic relationship. When there's no extended family, it's all about the nuclear family, and there's nothing for me in the traditional path to creating one without the whole attraction thing. I could do it, but I would be lying to myself and, more importantly, to someone I at least purported to care about, and I can't countenance that. So that leaves me with making my own path, and all that entails, because even if I'm not closing the possibility that I might one day be interested romantically in another human being or that another type of unconventional relationship exists that would work with who and what I am, I'm not counting on it. There's no point in planning on something which is unlikely to happen.

So I get to define what family is. I have all the choice in the world, and all I can do is walk into the future and try to live each day as it comes. I always hated those assignments I got in high school, when I was expected to plan out my future and say where I wanted to be in ten or twenty years. How can I know that? There's nothing to tell me how my life should go, no easy ubiquitous story to hear and build on. There's no story of my life out there at all, so all I can do is tell mine, day by day, and make it up on the fly. Maybe one day I'll be able to help younger asexuals figure it out, maybe one day I'll have something coherent to say.

Later, divorce came up in the class discussion. As class ended, I brought up the point that divorce isn't necessarily bad, and the conversation ended up with Dr. M going on about this new trend of women in their thirties marrying only because they want children, and then divorcing early once the kids are there. And I thought "wow, that's my life plan, except that I'd rather use a sperm donor entirely." I love that class, but there have been so many moments when I think to myself "yeah, and you don't know the half of it" when things come up. And I can't even say or do anything, because I'm damn sure not coming out to an entire class. There's feeling of being outside a house, and looking in--I can think of few things more alienating.
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So that meeting? It was totally at 3:00. I am a genius.

FYI, if you're really fast and a bit lucky it takes maybe seven minutes to go from my dormitory to Psychology. Good to know.
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Well. I did wake up and say to myself, "Sci, this is going to be a long fucking day." Wasn't expecting it to be this long, though.

Okay, so I did get my Statistics lab off. (At least, I hope so--it's entirely possible that all six other people were wrong when they said we had it off today.) But the actual lecture went on twice as long as usual. And then the Biochemistry test appeared to be some sort of insane vicious exam from hell--I don't know whether I passed or failed, but I'm not optimistic about it. All of that I expected.

What I did not expect, though, was staggering out of my Biochem test, feeling unwontedly nauseous, and then running straight into Dr. P at the bus stop. And having to make conversation. Why do authority figures always pop up and ask you about your day when you're failing tests, anyway? It isn't as if I could say "I totally believe I just failed it! :D" So I sort of waffled a bit at him and tried not to look too mush-brained, then grabbed the first bus that comes along.

Then, of course, after hauling myself all the way up to the sixth floor on the Elevator Of Crippling Slowness, I trot up to Dr. C's office for my Very Important Meeting about what the hell I'm doing this semester. No response. Okay, I tell myself, I am Bold Sciatrix. I can handle this. So I attempt to twist the handle and invite myself in to see him for my Very Important Meeting. Of course, the door is locked. Cue moment of total despair, because I have no energy left. Then I spot W, one of the lab's graduate students, coming down the corridor. Excellent, I think, W will totally tell me where Dr. C is so I can have my Very Important Meeting! Except W tells me she thinks that Dr. C hasn't come in at all today, and do I need to see him right now? Cue headdesking as I attempt to check my email to see whether Dr. C has sent me an email offering to reschedule (he hadn't), and then G says he thought he saw Dr. C earlier today. At least I got one of my awesome "you know, your work is pretty attractive to most profs and don't sell yourself short" talks from G. I've missed those.

So... yeah. I gave up after a bit, hauled myself home, trying not to scream out of frustration, and washed my dishes out of spite. (I believe in getting usefulness out of my stress-rage response.) New plan is to finish my jasmine tea, go down and bitch at L for a little while, and then come back and finish rereading Night Watch until I feel better. Hope it works.
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Today I am being a person entirely made out of flailing. And dampness.

It is raining outside and my feet are wet and people are wrong on the Internet and I spilled water all over my desk and and and...! That last one wouldn't be a problem except that my desk contains my pitcher and kettle and teapot and also, at last count, eight gajillion mugs. And also my printer. I cannot wait for the day when I get my own apartment and my electronics and tea materials do not need to share living space.

So. Totally skipping my lab meeting, because Dr. C doesn't think I can come anyway (he is wrong about my willingness to skip Physics, but he does not need to know that) and it's wet and miserable out anyhow. I'm meeting him on Tuesday anyway, where we can discuss my critical lack of ability to do anything in his lab since he is abandoning me for Indiana. (God, I wish I was making that up.) I need to find another faculty research mentor, preferably one who is staying right here. To the Genetics site!

And I had a brilliant plan to make friends with Dr. M because faculty recs are always good, even if they aren't actually in your department or science at all, but alas it involved actually going to office hours and like the crazy person he is he does not have them. So that's another cunning plan foiled. I should have known. At least I actually got to talk to my dad and give him my bestest compliment in the world, which seemed to make him very happy. I need to sit down and have a Conversation About Life with him, because although my dad is a crazy charismatic arrogant person who makes people love him for no reason he is the best person ever to have Conversations About Life with. Well, as long as you don't let him use his Game of Life metaphor, anyway.
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And lo! for she quoth, today hath been a most shitty day, and woe unto me, for I am tired unto exhaustion, and my uterus feeleth as though it hath been punching me in the kidneys. And then cameth the realization that no biochemistry work had been done, yea verily, and the upcoming test threatens to smite the unprepared most unpleasantly.

On the other hand, today was made better by the realization that I can totally write little coded diatribes to myself in proteins. And my own name, if I don't mind pretending the last letter has a Q in it instead of an O. If only I could think of a substitute for B, I would be golden. I wonder if there's a little font for it? That would make my day, it would. 


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