Bricoleur du dimanche...

probably what I am when it comes to submissions. Most of the time if almost feels like sheer terror at the procrastination and mad improvisation leads to the end form of my written pieces. A crooked tower added to the rear, a rickety stairway to nowhere, higgledy-piggledy panes and a wildly careening awning, the end purpose discovered after construction. Yet the structure appears to hold and appeals to its audience? It shames me that sitting down to work steadily and properly at something just never happens. It's been close to two decades of education and the technique continues to evade me. Good grades and praise feel undeserved though I won't pretend that these days, I work like a dog, for the few hours/ days that I actually do. Sustaining the capacity to work steadily rather than in random bursts. What will it take? Hopefully someone will let me in on that secret.

Denial

The bunny was dead.
The cat was carrying it in its mouth the way it does kittens.
Normally, I like cats.
This time, not really.
My only hopes were that the bunny had already been dead when the cat picked it up.
The only thing I could be glad about was that I didn't see it in a semi-masticated state.
It would probably make me hate cats, regardless of Patches.
The bunny was still whole and cute, just dead.
The cat was very cute too, black with a white sock on its front paw.
The only uncute thing was it had a dead bunny in its mouth as it ran across the dump site.
The single sock flashing as the dead bunny swung about.
It was the first time that I had seen a dead bunny.
They are normally alive and bounding across grass patches, nibbling on shoots and chasing one another.
I am sad.
It is not that time of the month.
It is not hormones.
It is just that dead bunnies make me sad.
Even if they feed cute cats.
Maybe it isn't even about bunnies.
Maybe it's because I can't just call you to tell you I saw a cat carrying a dead bunny in its mouth.
And that seeing the dead bunny made me sad.

Maybe the cat was taking a bunny friend that fainted to the secret animal ER which is behind the second bin to the right. 
That sounds better.
I think I'll go with that one.

Having babies

A friend of mine recently brought a baby into this world. She is stressed out, a tad cray-cray and emo from postpartum depression, and pooped out as hell from the time it takes to care for a new being. Her fucktard husband tells her that giving birth is normal, and she shouldn't "exaggerate as though she's the only one going through pain and depression" (strictly his words). How difficult is it for the jerkwad to get that she needs support and love, not to be told the equivalent of "suck it up and shut the fuck up"?!
Personal opinion obvs but past the point of spermination males need to roll with the blows. It's the price they may need to pay for skipping out on having swollen -painful- boobs, for not feeling pukey/ gassy/ bloated/ shitty, for not needing to share their body and its resources, for not getting stretch marks and back aches, for not needing to run to the loo a gazzilion times, not to mention the insane bombardment of hormones required to support another life form. You deal with the madness because you're part of the reason for it okay? Changing diapers/ feeding the bundle of joy/ bathing it once in a blue moon should not earn you brownie points because you ought to be doing some of that stuff anyway! Hug your damn wife, let her rage at you, seek professional help if it gets out of hand but neverbloodysay that she should just get over it because that is just not going to help.

A strange correlation

Every time I cry -not tearing, but full on snotty nosed bawling- my armpits perspire profusely (with deodorant use mind you).
So on top of having to deal with a leaky nose and puffy eyes, the scent of misery enfolds my being. Sadness tastes strange but not unpleasant. The metallic tang with its bitter-sweet note. A symphony of revolt from multiple sensory modalities.

Tell me again

How is it that two pretty nice people bring out the worst in one another?

Anything but

This blog has many posts on procrastination, mainly because I blog to procrastinate.

Take today, I was supposed to make presentation slides for my ADHD and gender paper, instead I've:
1) Made marinated mushrooms
2) Roasted capsicums (because olives and mushrooms aren't enough for antipasti... why do I need it?)
3) Washed my kitchen towels
4) Did laundry
5) Vacuumed
6) Watched two movies

Last few minutes of the eleventh hour.

Somewhere within the grey slush between my ears, another 3000+ words lie dormant. They need to surface and soon. The dread of not getting a HD and wrecking my beautiful average is looming. With one Credit on my transcript, it's a mercy that the other HDs were high enough to compensate and pull their weight against that abomination. Now, what will I do with anything less? It could be the one that screws up everything. It will not impact the research year since anyway it would be hard for the average to drop below the requirement but it would still be quite a blow if it dropped below the personal goal. The honours grade is based solely on the research year, so it really should not matter but considering how much I've procrastinated and the extension request, my supervisor and course convenor expect a lot of me based on previous submissions. Why was the bar set so high? I wouldn't want to disappoint them. Blowblowblow. In the mean time, must figure out how to rid mesself of this writers bloc and get back to writing already. God knows I've read hundreds of research papers, publications, books and reviews. Just a matter of making my case and doing a proper job of it. HELP!

The lengths I'd go to...

saddled with a packet of organic quinoa just because I really wanted an iced lemon-blueberry cupcake. Apparently, the only way of getting one was by getting something from the food co-op and making a gold coin donation.

Injustice

One person bearing all the consequences of two peoples actions. All long term and short term outcomes affecting the one more than the other, whatever the end decision.

Here we go again

If only I could take back the things I say and do in anger. It is no excuse, maybe it is time to get some anger management sorted out because this is not the first time I've overstepped certain boundaries. You drive me crazy, in good ways mainly but occasionally when it is in a bad way, snap. This is not a statement of it being your fault in anyway, it is about how much more vulnerable I am to you and yours, surprising considering how ambivalent I usually am about external opinion.
With you, the highs are higher and the lows are lower. It is a matter of choosing a life with not too much variability, a nice constant wave with softly rising hills and shallow valleys or the crazy roller-coaster we are on with insane happiness and intense sorrow. When things are going good, we are amazing! When they are not, we worse than suck... Those who know are telling me to step away, but they do not understand your brand of magic and the kind of optimism I cling on too. Things have been too beautiful and good for me to want to step away so easily. Nobody else has used such horrible words on me or made me feel so crappy about myself but nobody else summons rainbows. Hownowbrowncow?

Two peas in a pod?

We make one another sound like horrible people. Me in my words to you, you in what you write for the world to see.

Words words words...

I've read so many, my own have been leached.

Birds of a feather...

Periorbital puffiness, hand tremors, headaches, malaise, aching muscles, irritability... it must be sleep deprivation.

Night Owl,
I want to be there for you and to hear you out but when exhausted, these will not be the best listening ears or the most comfortable shoulder to cry on. Fatigue and irritation cause piercing words to roll of ones tongue. Exhaustion means that I cannot reason well and am too tired to respond appropriately but I do want to be there for you. However, the fatigue means that I am not being myself either and will not be at my best :((
The Morning Lark. 



On a different and rather extreme note:
"Sleep deprivation is regarded as torture under international law and is branded as such by the United Nations. Sleep deprivation may sound quite harmless in comparison to other methods of torture; however, ongoing sleep deprivation is an extraordinarily cruel form of torture which leads to a breakdown of the nervous system and to other serious physical and psychological damage."

3,2,1

The one second before a bomb blows, you never truly anticipate it. This one took the anger away but replaced it with regret and pain.
 Two seconds of an earthquake, devastation that takes months to recover from and the ground beneath your feet will not feel as solid for a while. Blink your eye and it happens but the aftermath will not spare quite so quickly.
In three seconds one can majorly fuck up the rest of their lives. This is one of the few things that I wish I had not done. The cost of acting on anger is self-loathing and the destruction of something beautiful. I will never have rainbow-first-kisses with anyone else. I died inside the moment it happened and so in fact did die before you.

Instead of the solipsistic ennui that defined my early twenties, 

I wish I'd slept on a hammock and made love on the floor below.

There is a candle in your heart, ready to be kindled.
There is a void in your soul, ready to be filled.
You feel it, don’t you?

- Rumi

All too finite

I don't want to wake up wishing I had done more. The world is too big and growing larger. I want to see, smell, hear, taste and touch more of it. Majestic heights, an aurora borealis, underwater worlds, exotic islands, deserts and tundras, cityscapes, neon lights, buzzing crowds, side-street cafes, wet markets, silky sand, yellowed snow, dirty gravel... it doesn't even have to be pristine. I want it all. To bungee-jump, to zorb, to fly a plane, to climb a mountain, to run in the rain, to fall upon the earth exhausted but fulfilled. Our bodies are functional for a finite time, some of these things can only be experienced as long as our sinew and flesh hold whole; while there is will in our spine and strength in our bones to wander, sample and explore. Could just be the wanderlust talking.

There is also all that knowledge out there. If only we could study as many things as we liked and work in multiple fields simultaneously... I wake up wanting to analyze information, to paint, to cook, to play with numbers, to grow herbs and fruits, to write, to dance, to do too many things. We are reconciled to having jobs that we love bits of and must get through the rest of. How can anything encompass everything that one wants to do? If time were not finite it may be possible. Time aside, Hayflick's limit holds and our one guarantee from birth arrives, often before the limit is truly reached. Senescence.

I want to be moved. To tears. To laughter. To something. The last time my heart swelled and sang out was when sitting by the the turquoise waters of Yamdrok Tso. I have been searching for that again, the point where beauty touches so deeply one is overwhelmed by wave after wave of joy, sadness, hope and the infinite other emotions out there. I hear the hearts song on solitary runs by the lake, a few more of those may be good. Maybe I just need to be done with my work, to see a few more sunsets, to run my fingers through the lentils and cardamoms in their sacks at the spice market, to watch the lights on the other side of the banks and it will return. Maybe what I need is to be fulfilled rather than reaching out to a thousand things only to want a million other things.

Is this a mid-midlife crisis? Regrets before the time is done and while I still actually have time to do some of the things on my list? Hence, the greatest fear is that ironically while spending time worrying about not doing/ not being able to do all these things, I could have done them.

A mouthful of

beautiful teeth. It's hard not to stare.

If only life had more "and's" and less "or's"

Écoute-moi

You know, you have madly beautiful ears. The kind of ears I want to draw. Delicate cartilage. Perfectly shaped. Soft, neat, drop-shaped ends. Shell-pinks and creams colouring the kinks. The kind that make me say strange, dorky things like "if I ever tissue-engineered an ear, I'd model it on yours." Did you really not know until I came around?

Es muss sein...

The rough silken hairs
against velvet skin.
A smooth cream,
hints of rose and berries.
Lambent tongues of flame
igniting desire. 

To reach out and touch,
engulf, accept.
To be burnt by the flame
and move away.
That moth that draws closer,
peril sought by its own wings.

One more year.

Maybe if I were not online, I would not check. Breaking a habit is always difficult but then there need not be the confrontations of old when I'm back. It is not meant to hurt him, but how do you explain not being able to forget some things, even if that is what we want most. Not meaning losing all memory of time and experience, but forgetting the abject funk that happens after. This year, there are ten thousand other things -hopefully- crowding my mind out.

I will not look over the edge, vertigo will not grip me by the gut and shake my calm. For the next 24 hours, it will not get to me. After it has passed, things will be back to... can things ever really be normal? Three years on, this is still not the time or place, essays, research and studying shall fill that chasm. What did the plan say? We never know when stories end before they should. One can only hazard a guess.

Atrophy

Considering how plastic our brains are and the fact that other people in your environment can affect the physical structure of our brains, I.a.m.s.c.a.r.e.d.

Sinkhole forming in the frontal cortex.

At postgraduate level, nay at any academic level, if one has to explain how plagiarizing demonstrates a lack of scruples and is simply a show of plain bloody laziness, one should just avoid common areas.

When the running joke of the day is screeching a block mates name like a group of parakeets, ear plugs are the least offensive solution to slapsticity.

If petty poison pen messages are sent out without regard for consequence, one has to wonder at the maturity of the author. The personal matters of others are  not mine to judge.

The three rants for today out there and now I can get back to my work.

In better news... there is none, at least not until the exams, essays, presentations and various other shizz are done with.

Who will read those words?

Writing on a deceased persons facebook wall. It's more for the living than the departed and I understand that for some, it could be cathartic. On a friends birthday you would wish them, a sign of sorts that you remembered a day out of three hundred and sixty five that is significant to them. When the friend is no longer around, it is not that you forget that day or it is any less special, but wishing them does seem a little pointless. Since 2009, I have not been able to do it and am not likely to start any time soon. It just does not do anything, for me, for him or for our mutual/exclusive loved ones.
I remember the judgments. Clear as day. In our vociferous world, silence is presumably significant. An acquaintance asking me if I didn't care, a friend asking if I cared so much I was terrified to put things down in words. How do I answer those questions? It used to be -and still is- an empty smile because honestly, how does one respond without appearing overtly detached or excessively fixated on events that cannot be undone. I don't not care but I have moved on. That is not wrong by any measure. Living in the past does not help you, we don't need more lost souls drifting along life's ebbs and waves. All the same, a little thought ripple sent out with a happy birthday tag attached would not hurt.

Travelling for travels sake

This July, Kierkegaard's land is where I'll be. Quite tempted to make a trip to Noma, 2011's best restaurant in the world, when I'm there but obviously they are booked out months in advance and getting a table for one person might not be too easy :/
Between discourses and research, I wonder if I'll have much time to go about. Most of my trips around the world had one academic purpose or another, so my traveling to those places isn't saying much. Take France in 2007, it was a month of language immersion in Montpellier. Avignon was a one day trip, Nimes was a detour and Paris was a three day blur.  Not complaining about a month of provençal food though. Hong Kong was the same, a comparative study field trip... we did however have plenty of time to go about and the professor who acted as our guide did his PhD there, so he knew the place like the back of his hand. Can't complain about that haha!

This is no whinge, I am genuinely pleased with the summer school opportunity and of course love that ANU is footing most of the bill. Copenhagen has generously given me a fellowship, so the only thing I really have to think about is finishing the papers I must write by the end of the course and doing good research of course. I just wish that I could travel for travels sake. Many friends used their undergrad days as an opportunity to travel. South East Asia is a favourite with students... cheap, beautiful, easy availability of weed/shrooms/psychedelics, beaches, temples, crazy-good food etc. Sometimes I regret not taking up the offers of friends to head to full moon parties at random Thai islands, to live on a boathouse in Vietnam or to trek to the Angkor Wat. Holidays had to have some kind of purpose and an immense sense of self-loathing developed as I appeared unable to travel without a reason but itself. Even now, I should be thinking of how to maximize my time and flight ticket. Perhaps pop into a Nordic country or two? Visit my great aunt in Germany? Meeting Anitha in Austria would be wonderful. Instead, I will prolly arrive in time to check into my accommodation (and hopefully switch my body clock around) before work begins, and will land up in Australia after school has begun.

Thank goodness for Nepal and Tibet after graduating. Those were trips that were made for no reason beyond my wanting to see gorgeous lands, beautiful sites and the kind of heights you can only scale at those altitudes. For now, every free moment I can manage is spent home with Nick because the distance really sucks. I have literally not gone around Australia (besides Canberra, I've spent a couple of days at Sydney, mostly because that's where my flights land... have not been anywhere else in the 11 or so months here canyoubelieveit?!) but out of choice, because I'd apparently pick him and Penang over my wanderlust.

Explicatus

The correlation between my hormone levels and moods continually surprise me even though I should know, even anticipate them. Just glad things are on the upswing again, particularly at this point where I still have about 17, 000 words in essays + 1 report due. A good blast of endorphins would help, but I have not exercised in ages. Thank goodness for chocolate. Long story short, my ovaries are done screwing with my brain... for the next 4 weeks or so.

 

Clear the Exit.

I'm at that place again, the awful one in my head, where I don't know what's wrong. I don't feel sad or bad, just absent. I am scared. It will pass. That is what I must tell myself. If I were to hazard a guess, pinning it on what is due feels like a good excuse. This is not the time for this. In reality it probably is the purposelessness of the quotidian. Where am I going? Somebody pinch me, it's time to wake up, I hear the alarm and am awake but am numb. I can't get out of bed, I can't stop the damn alarm, I can't brace myself to face a thing, why won't my body disobey the command of my vagrant mind?

L'histoire annuelle de jour de π

So for my annual pi day post, I have nothing to say but pi day is an amazing day to eat pie, which i shall and shan't do.  If I were in Penang, a homey apple pie would have been the order of the day, or a key lime pie. A banoffee pie maybe? Yes, pie of the year, 2012: Banoffee!

 In Other News
1) Wondering if:

• the Golden Key International Honours Society is an attempt to scam me of cheddar? I think the independent reviews said it best. A good wank for your ego.
• my going home this short break is madness. Yup, it is. Wait, I'm still going hoho. 

2) What I really should be doing instead of blogging:

• 3 reviews that should have done themselves over the long weekend
• work on my ADHD paper
• understand the physics of EEGs for a presentation
• analyze my data and figuring out the next phase of research (interneurons are the bomb, *droll face*)
• catching up on actual lecture material (way down on the list, too.many.other.things.of.immediate.urgency.raaaaawr!)

Listing it pushes the panic button but all my undergrad years and first postgrad term have taught me that I need the adrenaline rush and the full on "fuckyou'rescrewed!" feeling to get started and do a fine job of anything. www.made4stress&madness.com
Pretty fine line though, too hard a shove sends one across the precipice, down the valley of despondence.

This Leap Year

Most notable thing I did:
Put two 22 day old GAD67-GFP knock-in mice to sleep, perfused its brain and sliced it (the brain) up.

How I felt:
Awful

My actual thoughts when anesthetizing the mouse:
These mice are Aquarius. Not the point. Please be asleep mousie, don't feel pain. I'm sorry.

What was running through my head when I was opening it up:
Don't wake up. Ack! It's pumping heart is tiny. Where's the right atrium? Now Eva, make the incision at the left ventricle carefully, all the way through to the left atrium, don't pierce anything else. The mouse should not have died in vain.

Upon draining its blood supply, I  perfused the mouse with saline and a fixative. I watched its liver turn from red to yellow. The mouse was stiff at the end of it all and its brain well fixed. So the task of harvesting the brain began.  Skull-membrane separation etc. The end result, a white, kidney bean-sized blob of brain immersed gently in media and coronal slices in the order of microns were made.
I was to study the pituitary cortex, hippocampus, neocortex and possibly the olfactory tubercle for the first phase of my work. The brain is beautiful. The hippocampus (even when viewed without staining, with the naked eye) is ethereal. A set of angel wings suspended delicately in the middle of the slice.


More unrelated thoughts that strayed into a stranger neighborhood:
Since we believe that we have the right to breed animals for lab experimentation for bettering our species, we must be fair about it. If a "higher" species were breeding humans and experimenting on us in the same way, I should not complain. I can't. Believe you me, I would like it not a bit but to think that we alone had a mandated right over all other creatures would be unjust.

At the risk of sounding batty, what if unexplained human diseases were such. Why is it that some families have particular types of cancers. What if there were another species/ being(s) that had bred them so. We have after all created animal lines with specific gene variations and mutations. Religions would assign the "being(s)" to God(s) and conspiracy theorists may prefer to think of this/ these being(s) as aliens. In fact, it could be an infinite reproduction time thing, a frame within a frame. Layer upon layer of being doing the same to one another, the ones at the bottom wondering at the coincidence, the ones at the top searching for a pattern. A mise en abyme- type recursiveness?  Rather than bothering myself with these things, I shall go back to my brain slices and figure out how to meaningfully quantify the luminescence.