This ECT experiment is beginning to become more of a pain than I first thought. It has bloomed from cute garden flower into a healthy dandelion cluster. I find myself scrabbling to find felt, to finish off the pair of alligator-clip earrings to be illegaly modelled by our rat tribe (or tribe of rats, really).

Days race on.

I came in on this very day to observe what is called a perfusion surgery. You need never known the details of such things, merely that the fucker awoke me promptly at 5:45 this morning. I was awake and delerious, a Young Republican in Berkeley. My time to arrive at Mt. University: between 7:30 and 8:00am. Would I make it? I spent 30 minutes shaving; it couldn't go on like it had. That was my first necessary detour.

I'd decided sometime between descending from the mountain and my usual on-ramp to get gas. The gauge was dangerously low; so was I; the combination could have wrought chaos and walkies to a call box. I pulled into the armpit of a run-down neighborhood and cautiously approached a Texaco. This was the Taco Bell of gas stations. I approached around back, casually waiting, then slipped around almost into traffic, backed up nearly into a car, proceeding to repeat this process several times. My gas tank became roughly aligned to the dispenser. I pumped my car full of its questionable Super Plus seed. It was like pounding the pootcher palace without protection. I was hanging out, naked, or maybe that was time crawling up my shoulder.

And time creeping was had on the freeway. I could imagine old italian men hearding goats at breath-taking speeds, past 5 mph, perhaps 10, altogether leaving the lot of us to bask in shame and a flu-like fog. My car's clock may as well have been the ass of Jennifer Lopez: something not to be glanced at but scrutinized repeatedly.

Parking was relatively painless; bus transport was roughly similar; walking to, in, and down into the bowels of my discipline's also not so shabby. It was 8:15am. Surely they wouldn't feed me to the dogs. I checked. They were just getting started. I was Johnny on the spot. I even had enough time beforehand to check twice what John or Fred's name was. The surgery was a surgery. I took notes.

----

There were bad vibrations afoot. It was my day off of a volunteer job that I voluntarily went to. Funny how familiarity breeds expectation, even when money isn't involved.

Why funny? For the fact that I had a 9:30am meeting with Dr. Zivago and Hara-Kiri. We were to discuss the ECT procedure. Finally: some answers on this mystery beast, some direction, maybe even purpose. My hopes couldn't have been farther from the truth. Dr. Ziv mentioned that I should go through the literature to find out the exact parameters of the ECT shock. I told him squarely that I had. I then indicated the amount. He then countered that I had to JUSTIFY the amounts indicated. He looked self-satisfied in his tired tabernacle way. Later on I pressed: what did he MEAN by justify it? He re-mentioned looking at the literature. I again said I'd looked through half a dozen articles that directly related to what we were doing. Next was a classic line:

"The difference between a lead in the field and someone in the field is that the lead figures out the pulse train, pulse width, etc. etc."

In essence, friend, we could not simply copy the parameters outlined by an expert in the field, about a field we knew next to nothing about. We would learn every technical nuance to figure out how varying setting X, Y and Z could affect the rat. Arguably useful, but he wanted to begin monday. We had yet to test out the device. I forced myself into a corner and offered to test it on saturday, capping a continuous four day stretch of lab days. Some of my questions were even followed by smiles or slight giggles from my subordinates--who arguably did it because Dr. Ziv can twist his face into agonizingly articulate "what the fuck are you talking about?" faces.

----

Later on, after some passing conversation about something, the topic shifted to graduate school. I naturally wanted to ask what he thought about my record. According to him, yes, my quantitative GRE score was not good. I had accepted this. He added another point he'd mentioned once before: that my background was "a little light on the sciences." I learned that, apparently, people applying to UCLA for one of my fields of interest, Behavioral Neuroscience, typically have (according to Dr. Z):

*Two semesters of physics

*Organic chemistry and biochemistry

*Lots of Biology

When I was an undergrad, I took what I needed to for my psychology and biological psychology majors. Neither one included the above. I've wanted to take organic chemistry for a little while, but suddenly it was as if people applying to doing behavior work in psychology were hardcore science people. I've had my share of biology and chemistry classes, but what he was outlining was deeply shocking. After all, he said, I wanted to specialize in a field of psychology that focused on studying how behavior affects the immune system and health. It didn't occur to me at the time to think whether he or any recent graduates of his lab had that kind of preparation.

Instead, I rode home feeling down. I kept thinking to myself: Am I really cut out for graduate school? Do I have enough preparation? What did he mean by "well, it might not even be a weakness" when talking about allegedly light science load? I kept wondering what else I could do besides research. I felt numb.

I eventually felt a little better with some angrily sobering music. I went on a good hike and spoke to an old friend of mine, Luna. I then made food, sat down to write this entry...and feel kindof tired at 10pm--no doubt because of the 5:45am call-to-arms.

----

Here is a list of things that really bother me right now:

*I have less than two weeks to get in my first two applications for graduate school. I'm a little over half-way done with my first essay...which I can cut about half of (when it's finished) for my other essay.

*Oberlin still hasn't send in my official transcripts.

*I received an invoice from Frye's for 80 bucks on a purchase I made last year.

*Mom unearthed some graduation cards with old checks. She even left a post-it note with phone numbers.

*I have to send in a request for deferment letter to one of my loan corporations. Meanwhile, I need to find 40 bucks to pay it. It's due on the 15th--same as my applications.

*I have to go to Dr. Ziv's holiday party on the 13th. I've never wanted to go to an event less than this one. I have no personal reason for going. I skipped the last one on the (truthful) excuse that I was too busy looking for work. Saying this year that I'm too busy working on graduate applications at the last minute can't be done. I'm basically the co-supervisor. It's a company solidarity thing. It's at Dr. Ziv's house. I will hate every second of every minute in that man's den. I will make an excuse to leave early.

*I have to go in on saturday to (illegaly) test rats using that ECT procedure. I then have to find enough people to help do this to 8 rats. One problem: it's finals week next week.

----

As soon as the graduate school decisions are made, I'll see who accepts me. If someone besides Mt. University does, I'll accept and walk out on Dr. Ziv. If noone does, I'll still probably walk out on Dr. Ziv.

There is no money, no research being done, no credit being given. After his letter of recommendation, there is nothing but what I can put on a resume...and no resume filler is worth having a man who reminds you of your angry grandfather constantly--purposefully--contradicting things you say.

I am at my wit's end with his emotional barbarism and the childish immaturity of old white men.

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