Week 8 — Random Thoughts
A lot of week 8 has been spent planning for my soon-to-happen move. I have probably found a company who will ship my boxes without flame throwing a hole in my bank account (will keep you updated), and as a slightly OCD person (cue in snickering from any person who ever shared a living space with me) I find a lot of soothing peace and, to be entirely honest, hints of pleasure, in cleaning out old boxes of stuff and piling books and planning out how many boxes of which dimensions I will need.
Speaking of books: stay tuned, as I might soon try to get rid of a few stack of them by offering them to you for nothing more than the shipping costs. Which might still be a steep price if you live overseas.
News from my wrist
Getting better. Still not able to type long paragraphs or chunks of code without regretting it deeply. Less than optimum compatibility with (1) resistant little bit of research project, camped in a corner and refusing to move, (2) eternal dissertation writing (5 weeks before my final draft — or any form of draft, really, but I like to think of it as final and dearly hope my committee agree — is due), (3) fellowship applications ("Comment on the originality and on your intellectual contribution to the study. Describe the nature and degree of change in research direction. Clearly state how this fellowship experience will differ from your previous research experience and how this will serve your professional growth. Maximum of 1,000 characters including spaces and punctuation" nevertheless remaining less bearable than "Describe the subject and specific aims of the proposal, significance of the proposed research, and experimental design and methodology. Maximum of 15,000 characters including spaces and punctuation".)
Weather update
Nowhere near a heat wave, but California finally got its shit together (except for the tiny matter of a, oh, 19 to 20 billion dollars deficit, yet another budget standoff, and planned cuts so dreadful, from wellfare to education, that I am going to bury my head under the fine sand of our beautiful beaches until I leave both the state and the country, at which point I might occasionally allow myself to shed a tear for the friends I left behind without immediately becoming a seething ball of anger and despair), and I even got to put sunscreen on today.
Due for a haircut
Given the mess that my hairstyle currently is ("style" is probably too strong a word), I probably have very little to lose by following my grandmother's example and cutting my own hair (she has them short, too). Also, I probably stand a better chance to end up with something that vaguely resemble what I had in mind. Question is, will I have the guts? Probably not, and I will soon drag my sorry, already defeat admitting ass to the cheapest stylist in town, spend precious minutes explaining exactly what it is I want, insisting on the key words (angled, very short in the back, do not touch the front), throwing my hands around and repeatedly pointing at where various strands of hair should end, only to end up with something completely unrelated (most likely barely shorter in the back, noticeably shorter in front, angled only if I tilt my neck an unnatural way, and weirdly layered), say thank you, separate myself from a hefty amount of dollars plus a tip, and walk home wiping out bitter tears of frustration from my eyes, but still thankful that I didn't end up with bangs, avoided the straightening iron, and only had half the usual amount of hairspray poured upon my sensitive, now itchy scalp before I had time to remind the over-enthusiastic stylist I had asked for no products at all.
People often say accountant, tax inspector or dentist are the most hated professions. That usually means they haven't had a haircut in a while. (That said, I have one beloved hair stylist, who does what I ask him while holding either an interesting conversation or no conversation at all. Too bad he's in bloody Paris. Speaking of blood and Paris: do you English speakers really have to call this "Bastille day"? We don't. It's July 14th, or National Celebration. Stop being fancy.)