I am so full of it. I spend a lot of time complaining about not being able to find an ideal position. "What should I do when I grow up?" I whine. "Maybe I should try to write a book/teach/research/etc..." At the end of the day, no matter what you're doing and how much you enjoy it, it comes down to the paycheck. And I'm not getting one (or a large enough one anyway). Do I want to feel like I'm making a difference? Of course. Do I want to be interested and engaged in my work? Definitely. But reality comes crashing down.
The Spawn's father (aka - the Breadwinner, the one who's allowed me the luxury to wallow in my self-pity and constantly pursue non-lucrative employment) has lost his high-prestive/high-pay finance position due to the "economic downturn". Unfortunately, we were already pretty tightly budgeted b/c of our recent move/house purchase/completion of school. Now I want a real job, one with an actual livable salary, and I'm completely unqualified. Most words that I can think of to describe my emotions right now are not fit for print, even in a completely unread internet blog. Those uncles of mine who have left all that money in Nigeria for me are starting to look appealing...
If there actually is someone out there that reads this, I'm selling out. Make me an offer I can't refuse.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
A Mouse in the House
Two weeks ago now, in my endless internal debate about whether to stick with editing (no) or do another postdoc to recover my lost time (I shudder at the thought, which is why the procrastination), I asked for a sign. From whom, I don't know - maybe one of the lab god pantheon that cursed me during my graduate work by making me repeat the same supershift experiment 10 times to get "pretty bands" and blessed me during my postdoc by making my experiments actually work.
Either way, whether it was Crack, the god of erlenmeyer flasks (so named for the sound they make when dropped on the floor), or Ruh-Ruh, the god of imbalanced centrifuges, he/she has a sense of humor. I came home from a conference to find out that there had been a baby mouse in my house (mercilessly squashed and removed to the trash by my Mother-in-law, who was staying to watch the Spawn while I was out of town).
As an immunologist, there's no way that I can be afraid of mice, but I've had many a nightmare about being in the animal facility alone at 2am and having all of the mice suddenly get out of their cages and swarm me in horror-movie like revenge. The thought of one in my house freaked me out, however, especially with the Spawn (let alone a baby mouse, implying the presence of a mommy mouse), so I immediately went out and bought a bunch of "humane traps".
Later that afternoon, I saw another one (both in the basement). It was about 3 weeks old (I AM, after all, an expert on mice) and looked just like a B6. Aren't wild mice supposed to be brown? Sadly, in my efforts to capture it under a garbage can, there was an inadvertent cervical dislocation and my vow to never murder a mouse again was broken. Haven't seen one since...
So obviously, this was the sign I was looking for. But what does it mean? Is my vow-breaking a sign that I should go back to the lab? Were the mice there to remind me of how repugnant I think sacrificing them is? I'm no closer to an answer than I was before, but one thing I know - someone out there is listening (and maliciously contaminating tissue culture incubators).
Either way, whether it was Crack, the god of erlenmeyer flasks (so named for the sound they make when dropped on the floor), or Ruh-Ruh, the god of imbalanced centrifuges, he/she has a sense of humor. I came home from a conference to find out that there had been a baby mouse in my house (mercilessly squashed and removed to the trash by my Mother-in-law, who was staying to watch the Spawn while I was out of town).
As an immunologist, there's no way that I can be afraid of mice, but I've had many a nightmare about being in the animal facility alone at 2am and having all of the mice suddenly get out of their cages and swarm me in horror-movie like revenge. The thought of one in my house freaked me out, however, especially with the Spawn (let alone a baby mouse, implying the presence of a mommy mouse), so I immediately went out and bought a bunch of "humane traps".
Later that afternoon, I saw another one (both in the basement). It was about 3 weeks old (I AM, after all, an expert on mice) and looked just like a B6. Aren't wild mice supposed to be brown? Sadly, in my efforts to capture it under a garbage can, there was an inadvertent cervical dislocation and my vow to never murder a mouse again was broken. Haven't seen one since...
So obviously, this was the sign I was looking for. But what does it mean? Is my vow-breaking a sign that I should go back to the lab? Were the mice there to remind me of how repugnant I think sacrificing them is? I'm no closer to an answer than I was before, but one thing I know - someone out there is listening (and maliciously contaminating tissue culture incubators).
Monday, November 10, 2008
Welcome to My Nightmare
As this is the inaugural post of my blog, I'll give you a brief introduction and "mission statement" as it were. I am an ex-bench scientist (finished my postdoc in the field of immunology in July) that has fled the bench to become a scientific editor. Do not take that to mean that my blog will have even relatively decent grammar; I'm thinking it will be more stream-of-consciousness (think Faulkner, one of my favorite authors). Typos will abound.
Why am I writing this blog? That's definitely a question I'm asking myself right now. I guess the main reason is that I regret my decision to leave the bench, despite still agreeing with the cost-benefit analysis. I need a place to vent or my husband will go insane having to listen to me bitch constantly. I have recently had a kid (aka 'The Spawn' - affectionately named by a graduate student friend of mine) that I actually get to see now with the better hours, lower stress, and higher pay. And yet, I'm not intellectually challenged and feel like I'm stagnating. Don't let anyone tell you that constantly reading other people's papers holds a candle to writing your own.
Do I miss hours of repetive pipetting? The bad karma of mouse murder (now in the thousands according to my 'hit list' spreadsheet documenting my savage killing spree)? The constant stress of having to find funding or getting your publication in the best Journals? Not for one second. I don't miss the long hours either - but I miss the ownership of my project, the small pride in knowing that I was contributing something to the greater body of scientific knowledge, the feeling that I had the potential to make a difference with my work - even though it was often incremental (or not even) or redundant. Basically, it comes down to missing the power trip.
But of course, I got sidetracked. The blog will often (if I continue it) talk about my kid, my work, and interesting science that I read. I may even occasionally delve into politics (I'm a liberal independent), the economy (what a cess-pool), and other things that irritate the Hell out of me. If you like complaining, I'm the girl for you.
Why am I writing this blog? That's definitely a question I'm asking myself right now. I guess the main reason is that I regret my decision to leave the bench, despite still agreeing with the cost-benefit analysis. I need a place to vent or my husband will go insane having to listen to me bitch constantly. I have recently had a kid (aka 'The Spawn' - affectionately named by a graduate student friend of mine) that I actually get to see now with the better hours, lower stress, and higher pay. And yet, I'm not intellectually challenged and feel like I'm stagnating. Don't let anyone tell you that constantly reading other people's papers holds a candle to writing your own.
Do I miss hours of repetive pipetting? The bad karma of mouse murder (now in the thousands according to my 'hit list' spreadsheet documenting my savage killing spree)? The constant stress of having to find funding or getting your publication in the best Journals? Not for one second. I don't miss the long hours either - but I miss the ownership of my project, the small pride in knowing that I was contributing something to the greater body of scientific knowledge, the feeling that I had the potential to make a difference with my work - even though it was often incremental (or not even) or redundant. Basically, it comes down to missing the power trip.
But of course, I got sidetracked. The blog will often (if I continue it) talk about my kid, my work, and interesting science that I read. I may even occasionally delve into politics (I'm a liberal independent), the economy (what a cess-pool), and other things that irritate the Hell out of me. If you like complaining, I'm the girl for you.
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