(no subject)
Today I am sending off my first cover letter/CV for a medical research position. As much as I absolutely adore tinkering thoughts and sentences to perfection, this-shit-is-stressful-yo. Especially when you have a grand total of no scientific research experience. I have to say, I'm really looking forward to the day when my resume even remotely reflects solid experience in my career of choice.
Yesterday, I dressed myself in the only two items of green clothing I own, without even realizing for a second that it was St. Patrick's Day. Needless to say, I quickly switched to something less deserving of throttlage.
Yesterday as well, I read a fascinating article on the effects of irradiation on brain cancer patients' hippocampus (we have sea horses in our brains!). Basically, irradiation triggers an inflammatory response in hippocampus microglial cells that inhibits the development of new nerve cells from stem cells there. Development which brain cancer patients would benefit from, to say the least. I guess it's old news now, but whoever first put those two things together should feel mighty proud. Not that I'm entirely sure how quickly new nerve cells set themselves up. Which leads me to:
Sometimes I get scared of how I work. I mean, all these things are going on all at once, a million billion trillion processes (SUCE! for my pals back in France) per second. I'm thinking, I'm walking, I'm metabolizing while sitting here typing, and holy hell how does everything not just fall apart every second? And what about those umpteen gadgillion roles and functions we can't even begin to fathom? Whoooooo. Heavy stuff.
In other news, I still have 700 pages left in Les Misérables. Yeah, since January. Yeah, still royally awesome. I love how many of his personal observations and thoughts and philosophies and knowledge and everything else Hugolien manage to thrive between the plot lines. I feel able to gain a great respect for him as a person through reading his novels, which is something I can't really say about that many other authors. Of course, he could be LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH. But I doubt it. Not for that many pages. It is testimony, not a dress-up.
Yesterday, I dressed myself in the only two items of green clothing I own, without even realizing for a second that it was St. Patrick's Day. Needless to say, I quickly switched to something less deserving of throttlage.
Yesterday as well, I read a fascinating article on the effects of irradiation on brain cancer patients' hippocampus (we have sea horses in our brains!). Basically, irradiation triggers an inflammatory response in hippocampus microglial cells that inhibits the development of new nerve cells from stem cells there. Development which brain cancer patients would benefit from, to say the least. I guess it's old news now, but whoever first put those two things together should feel mighty proud. Not that I'm entirely sure how quickly new nerve cells set themselves up. Which leads me to:
Sometimes I get scared of how I work. I mean, all these things are going on all at once, a million billion trillion processes (SUCE! for my pals back in France) per second. I'm thinking, I'm walking, I'm metabolizing while sitting here typing, and holy hell how does everything not just fall apart every second? And what about those umpteen gadgillion roles and functions we can't even begin to fathom? Whoooooo. Heavy stuff.
In other news, I still have 700 pages left in Les Misérables. Yeah, since January. Yeah, still royally awesome. I love how many of his personal observations and thoughts and philosophies and knowledge and everything else Hugolien manage to thrive between the plot lines. I feel able to gain a great respect for him as a person through reading his novels, which is something I can't really say about that many other authors. Of course, he could be LYING THROUGH HIS TEETH. But I doubt it. Not for that many pages. It is testimony, not a dress-up.