Got up with a headache (that happens when you cry your eyes out the night before, whether you have a valid reason for it or not). Chatted a bit with the roommate in the bathroom, showered up, got dressed. Spent too much time staring at the news with my breakfast (like, I mean, wait, what?). Paid the bills. Eventually put my ass in motion and dragged it to the office.

Did a little bit of writing. Chatted idly with the French postdoc who just came back from a holiday during which he spent 2 days in my hometown. Talked with various people on instant messenger while catching up with my favorite publications (didn't have time to go around and browse Nature nor Science. Anything of interest there lately?) and doing some reading.

Wrote some code for the first time since December 17th (actually logged onto the servers for the first time since January 6th), which was nice. Got it to run, too, at that. Wrote many results down to make reviewers happy.

Read the Daily Kos 2010 Republican poll and twittered about it because, seriously? This is wrong. You have an educational problem on your hands, America. An ugly one.

Caught up with a labmate (mostly learned no results were in yet because he was in the hospital until 3 am with the guy who fractured his tibia playing soccer; already knew about the soccer accident and had already guessed about the consequences, so, very little added value except for the always appreciated social component^[1]).

Remembered to have lunch! At some point, glanced down to my pretty purple shoes and smiled.

Went to the baby shower organized downstairs for our financial analyst. Had a piece of cheesecake and some coffee. Had a typical conversation with Advisor and my labmates (phone plans, voip, iPad jokes, etc^[2].)

Starting writing a review for a relatively good (but somehow missing a very important — to my eyes — experimental part) paper, sent a few emails.

Went to a meeting to present a request for the (partial) funding of a dance party, said request wasn't put to vote because of ridiculous administrative shenanigans. Cursed internally, a lot, and asked for this hour and a half of my life back.

Went home, and here I am.

I have to go do the laundry now.

And make dinner. Dinner is good.

Of Fathers

"I got emancipated from my father as soon as it was legally possible," the young woman said. "And then I was mostly raised by nannies, until my deeply religious, conservative, anti-feminist mother decided it was time she took care of me. I might have preferred living with my father."

The two other women nodded in silence.

"I seem to see so many happy families around me," she added, "and then I wonder, is it really possible?"

"We had a happy family," one of her friends replied. "And then my mother died."

"Oh, we had a happy family as well," the third woman added after a pause. "And then we found out my father had had a second family on the side for fifteen years. And he liked them better."

The young man with them put his glass down.

"Oh, wow."

I know. Most (probably all) families are fucked up one way or another. See for example over there.

Of Women's Worth

"I don't really want to hang out with that side of the family," the Asian woman with a British accent said. "They always ask why I want to go for a PhD, how am I going to find a husband, especially as haven't I been putting on a little bit of weight lately?"

"My family is more subtle," replied the European sounding woman. "They just always make comments on how nicer I look after I lose weight. Except that I don't lose weight, I just gain confidence in myself. The women in my family are all rather progressive, but most of them are still unconsciously super focused on women's appearance..."

"... because you need to get yourself a husband and keep him. Oh, icky," interrupted the first woman.

"My grandma used to send me cookies when I moved away from home," the young, definitely American man who was with them said. "So once I thanked her for it at a family gathering, and my sister asked whether she could have some as well. My grandma got up, pinched my sister's cheek, and said, 'oh, darling, we love you just like you are', which was probably the most passive aggressive thing I ever heard."

Isn't it great when people from such diverse origins find a common ground of shared experiences?

I wish I had more time to write.

Actually, I wish I had more time to write research papers and my dissertation. (Yesterday I was asked whether I had backups of my dissertation, and backups of the backups. My dissertation is three and a half pages long. I'm not very worried about losing them.)

Come to think of it, I wish I had more time to do basic things like, oh, I don't know, eating lunch. Or sleeping. Come to think of it, going to the bathroom whenever I feel like it would be a great improvement.

So, yeah, research.

And organizing a dance mixer.

And putting a swing dance club together.

Talking about putting things together, did you ever put a portable Marley floor together? Just think about 40 tiles of 2.5 foot by 2.5 foot, each of which weighing about 3 pounds. And having to lay them carefully next to each other and velcro them all together once you've carried them. And moved the tables and chair against the wall.

I solemnly announced it to my fellow swing dancers and will repeat here: never again.

Although it was worth it.

Except for the part towards the end of the evening when the elements started coming seriously apart and I tripped over. Don't trip while doing cross kicks, because your partner doesn't have a hold on you is all what I'm saying.

Anyway, great things happening.

I might even make it to the end of the week without strangling anybody. But more because I'll be too tired for it than because they won't deserve it.

Between me and my swing dance partner, the day after we both discovered West Coast Swing together (a sweet, sweet birthday present).

Me: "Dude. One could totally dance west coast to Ace of Base."

Him: "Ace of Base? You ARE old. Wait, are you texting me on a Friday night, when you know I'm with friends skiing, to tell me that?"

Me: "Can't help it if you're a kid. Like you don't enjoy telling your friends you're getting texts from the girl you held in your arms most of the evening yesterday."

Him: "I can't believe I actually missed you."

Me: "Good night, my dear. Enjoy some mulled wine for me."

Totally worth my money.

• Become a doctor
• Move back to Europe
• Do my best to be happy while doing so

I think that should be enough for a year. Optionally, I'd like to learn how to dance balboa.

A beautiful 2010 to all of you who read these pages. May it be filled with laughter, tenderness, and smiles.

My plans include walking aimlessly in the streets, seeing friends and family, staying up late, laughing until my abs hurt, not letting Christmas drive me nuts, drinking hot chocolate, giving a research talk, taking pictures of Notre-Dame and the Christmas store windows, getting started on my dissertation.

I'll be back on January 2nd and I should go finish packing.

Well, no, don't scratch it. All what I said there is true. But above all, I'm happy, and that's what I'm the most thankful for. So there.

Thanksgiving is upon us. This afternoon, I will gather with some of my dearest Californian friends (in which "Californian" is intended to mean "met in California" and not "born in California", as none of them is) to share what will no doubt be a delicious dinner (all I say is there will be a bird, and green beans, and mashed potatoes, and yams, and cornbread, and two cranberry sauces, and sangria, and mulled wine, and sparkling wine, and pumpkin pie, and apple pie, and cranberry cheesecake, and probably some other things as well) and many, many laughters. According to our tradition, we will all have a cup of champaign before desert and toast to all what we are thankful for.

However corny that might sound, it is an ideal time, what with the grumpiness the cold season brings upon us, to reflect on all our blessings. I tend to complain a lot — mostly because it makes for more interesting stories —, but now is the time to think about all what I am grateful for.

In all seriousness, I should be writing a deep, emotional text about blues dancing. I took a fifteen minutes class in the little room above my favorite dance club and that's all I needed to fall in love.

With blues dancing, that is, not my partner.

Although he does have amazingly soft hands and a swell sense of rhythm.

(Yes, my life revolves around research and dancing. I could imagine much worse even if I can understand that it bores you to tears.)

Or I could write about the responsibility of being taken, together with a good friend of mine, as roles models by a much younger girl. But I'm so confused with my own thoughts about this topic that I am going to avoid it for now.

So all you're left with are these short conversation excerpts. Disclaimer: not always the same "Him".