I can't say much for tuesday except I finished sending out information that my three recommenders needed. I also ordered transcripts and went out to dinner with mom; those are getting on the rare side now, probably in prepartion for the wad of cash we'll need to pay for all these graduate applications.

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Now Wednesday was an odd and cheerful beast.

On the one hand, it was pretty run-of-the-mill. Dr. Zivago sent me a template for the National Institute of Health (NIH) grant; they'd sent in a behemoth like this earlier this year. The thing is due February 1st. He told me straight up that it'd be alot of work.

He also wanted me to start writing a Standard Operating Procedure (SOP) for just about everything the lab does. It's a new regulation for having a functioning 'study area' (i.e. some place you can stow rats that isn't a colony room). It figures: we spackle and paint the entire room, disinfect it, and now the bureaucratic side lolls its warped mutant head and twitchy eye in our direction. I don't mind the administrative stuff so much, really. For the most part it's mindless busy work--part of which can be done by undergrads. I still get all the credit, mind you, then appear noble when I acknowledge their help. Hey, I'm not the white man that invented seniority, I just use it as best I can.

Now the cool thing about Wednesday was on the other hand. I'd brought in my college transcripts to Dr. Ziv, since he wanted to be thorough in his letter. He also wanted my GRE scores. I thought that moment was as good as any to reveal my, er, not so much short as kinda really short shortcoming in my math score. And so I listed of the percentile ranks to him. I rounded off math to 60% just to blunt the edge (for me). I expected him to look at me like I was a leper who'd just drooled on his daughter.

He didn't react, period. I was surprised and relieved. Then he scrunched in his eyebrows and then said, "Well it's no wonder you scored low, I mean c'mon, you didn't have much math in college!" He was right--I'd had an intro stats course and that was it.

Funny thing was, it had never occured to me that I could explain my math deficiency like that. My score actually seemed reasonable in that light. It was all kinds of surprising that Dr. Ziv had mentioned it.

I was incredibly happy he'd said it, actually. That may sound odd at first, but let me explain why:

1) Instead of Dr. Ziv thinking that I fundamentally lacked genius-level math ability, he'd decided instead it was because of my background. He'd decided my shortcoming was based off an external reason--not an internal one. In essence he'd given me the benefit of the doubt.

2) If Dr. Ziv came to this conclusion, why not other professors I want to work with? It seems reasonable to you, right? That and I get all sorts of panic-stricken anxious when I'm asked to do math in a test situation. Sure those are excuses--but they're logical excuses.

The only other thing I had to do that day was help Chernobel and some undergrads out. We performed a practice surgery on a rat. We've been doing them constantly, week after week, waiting until we get our holding room approved. After that I can finally start doing research again.

Did I much mind at that point? Hell no, I was on cloud nine mostly. Suddenly my biggest fear had sortof imploded, like those innie belly-buttons.

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Later on, after work, I logged on to find a swathe of people I know on IM's. Of all the people in the world I got an IM from Selene's boyfriend. Picture a coffee house intellectual with some closely guarded, recondite pet theory that he giddily whispers in-between sips and smokes--and you've got him. Not to say I was bored. It was fascinating and recklessly challenging. And I thought I typed fast to people while sorta skirting sense--yikes.

Selene herself was also on. I mentioned said boyfriend randomly contacting me after 2 years. She said he'd been talking to every one of her friends--apparently since she'd broken off with him. Now, I sympathize with the guy--even like him sorta--and I feel for Selene...but part of me was happy for her--and yeah, ok, happy for me too. She then mentioned she'd be coming around to LA for the weekend, and she wanted to see myself and The Captain to bring the three back together (since we'd all been good friends together). That just nudged me straight into being giddy.

Now I know when a man mentions a recently single woman and the word 'giddy' in the same paragraph, y'all will draw a conclusion that ends roughly somewhere in my pants. That's not quite it. I'd be lying to you if it hadn't crossed my mind--I may be sensitive but I am attracted to her--but no, not my intention. Ideally I'd like to get some snuggle time; this does not read 'snuggle and incrementally start groping her while mentioning how hot she is and that I can't possibly control myself, oh wow now my pants are chaffing me' time. I mean just physical intimacy.

I miss it like a motherfucker, plain and simple.

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Back to business, though. I've got until the 15th to write a personal statement for the first two grad schools I'm applying to. Basically think about a cover letter, a job interview and every conversation you've ever had with your boss about the 'future' and you'll get a rough idea for what I'm supposed to include. I need to start reading a 'how to' book on that tonight.

Well, I've sold myself pretty well before. So I guess I'll put on my white male patriarchy flip-flops and do a song and tap dance routine.

Better than clogs or hamsters, I guess.

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