Is it fucking over yet?
I never thought it would be possible to be so fed up with something as innocuous looking as a dissertation. Even working on a different section when I can't take the first one any longer doesn't work any more, because I loathe every single goddamn part of it. Who the fuck, I ask myself, gives a shit about the whole lot of it, and truth be told, an estimate of 10 people in the entire world at any point in time seems to be stretching it a bit. Including all the tables of figures and mandatory resume and whatnot, it is currently 196 pages long, and even knowing that the font size, line spacing and margins have clearly been developed by someone with a deep hatred of trees, this seem like an awful lot.

See, I am trying and trying and trying to get rid of at least some of these bulky, heavy books before moving out in September; and I have even made a neat little pile of 22 pounds of books I can accept to live without. Well, the pile was much bigger, but I gave bags of them to friends. Still, I have a lot left. 22 pounds. Most of them French translations of novels written in English (I really cannot figure out why those aren't any more popular among people who can all read and enjoy the original directly!). What am I going to do with them? I want them to be read! And enjoyed! I cannot just throw them away, right? They're books! You don't throw books away! It's against my (absence of) religion!

So why don't you have a look through that list to see whether or not you would enjoy some of them dear little books? If you pay for shipping (which I realize it can still be quite expensive if you're living on the other side of the pound but, have a look, will you?) I'll be more than delighted to send them to you.

This is the to-do list I wrote myself yesterday before going to bed:

• molecular dynamics: it ran; you changed both the force field and the structure, it exploded; so go back and change only one of these things at once;
• ltr project: get performance closer to the benchmark;
• fellowship: seriously, DO IT;
• stretch;
• ps: you know it's the force field and not the structure.

I am not very good at concision. Weirdly enough, I can also lack in the domain of detailed instructions.

I just happen to have there, in the top left drawer: a toothbrush, some toothpaste, a comb, hydrating lotion, sunscreen, mints, some stupid antibacterial hand spray, some lens cleaner (useful for both glasses and monitors), lip balm, ibuprofen, and a small pocket mirror (given to me by one of these big computer science companies who think that this is an appropriate way to attract women).

In the bottom left drawer: some utensils, tea (Earl Grey and English Breakfast), cereal bars, fruit snacks, dark chocolate, and caramels. (The caramels are made with salted butter and come from Brittany and these little mongrels are delicious.) And a tennis ball for self massages.

On the desk behind me: an extra sweater.

In the fridge: lunch leftovers, yogurts.

The kitchen has a kettle and an ample supply of cold and hot water, coffee, and coffee filters.

I have speakers and headphones (for when my office mate is in), postcards of Paris on the wall, and on the desk a box of tissues, a calendar, a photo I took of the Eiffel Tower, the birthday card I got from my lab mates ("May your Brightest wish come true for you!" is the pre-written text — one of them edited "wish" in "wishes"), an original drawing by Aurélia Dalma herself, a little cow my mom got me in Greece, and a postcard from Florida. I have apparently taken the habit of stacking wedding invitations and thank you notes behind this view of a sand beach complete with palm tree, blue ocean, and a pelican.

I also have three cups (the Ubuntu one is for coffee, the one from the company I interned at last summer is for water, and the one from the conference I attended in December is for tea), a water bottle and a travel cup (mostly used for the 99¢ refills at the nearest coffee shop on the rare days we run out of coffee or on these more frequent occasions when I am too lazy to make my own).

And let's not forget my lumbar back massager ("with heat!" exclaims the manual).

I guess I just spend a lot of time in here.

And anyway, the guys next door have a talking pen and a screaming monkey. Let's just say that Friday afternoons can be interesting.

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.