Erythrophobia
In the six days since my last update I avoided a potentially violent encounter with a Borden's delivery truck driver after he caused me to crash on the road from the height of my father's road bike, leaving me, two days after the incident, bruised and battered and fatigued (though the fatigue could be due to a number of factors not relating to the above incident); I bought a ticket that indeed has contributed to the estimated $132 million box-office intake of the second "Pirates" film (a record, I assure you), yet I have not actually seen the movie; and I celebrated it all with too much chips and salsa this weekend, and far too much Mexican food yesterday.
My professor I work for in lab told me Thursday that I have to right a report about what I've accomplished this summer in lab. I know the tests and experiments and runs that I have performed, but I do not know what any of the results mean or why I was asked to do most of it. I think I'm not going to enjoy the next two weeks of trying to write this thing...but at least I have only four more days of work in the lab.
California should be fun, unless our flight from DFW to John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana crashes and we burn to a crisp (I'm sorry, you poor poor people in Siberia, that really was a tragedy). Is it THAT obvious that I do not enjoy flying? Airports give me migraines and being on an airplane makes me want to shoot myself. But I understand it usually is all worth it in the end.
I need new clothes, but I'm afraid to go shopping. Why can I never be satisfied with myself..?
My professor I work for in lab told me Thursday that I have to right a report about what I've accomplished this summer in lab. I know the tests and experiments and runs that I have performed, but I do not know what any of the results mean or why I was asked to do most of it. I think I'm not going to enjoy the next two weeks of trying to write this thing...but at least I have only four more days of work in the lab.
California should be fun, unless our flight from DFW to John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana crashes and we burn to a crisp (I'm sorry, you poor poor people in Siberia, that really was a tragedy). Is it THAT obvious that I do not enjoy flying? Airports give me migraines and being on an airplane makes me want to shoot myself. But I understand it usually is all worth it in the end.
I need new clothes, but I'm afraid to go shopping. Why can I never be satisfied with myself..?