(no subject)
The fact that the next day was her birthday hadn't escaped Jill's noticed, she was just hoping it had escaped the notice of everyone else. Although she liked the island most of the time, there was something oddly permanent about celebrating a birthday there, something too final about it. Not to mention the fact that she'd made a little deal with herself back home: she was going to identify the retrovirus found in the Korean stem cell line and she was going to have her diabetes research prepared and presentable by the time she turned thirty-six.
Unfortunately, she knew that it just wasn't going to happen unless, in the course of a single day, all her research and her entire lab showed up and she was able to do all the work needed in order to make her work fit for the public. Not that she supposed it would matter much either way. Even if her lab and all her work showed up, there was no Nobel Prize on the island, no one with diabetes that she knew of. It would essentially be rendered useless. Jill didn't enjoy feeling useless.
With her hair tied back, she sat at the table in the kitchen, scrolling through endless pages of useless work. Things that would never mean anything again unless she could get back home, all the work she'd ever done, all the work she'd poured her life into it. And maybe she was just feeling sorry for herself because she was turning thirty-six, but she figured she was entitled to it. Just this one.
Unfortunately, she knew that it just wasn't going to happen unless, in the course of a single day, all her research and her entire lab showed up and she was able to do all the work needed in order to make her work fit for the public. Not that she supposed it would matter much either way. Even if her lab and all her work showed up, there was no Nobel Prize on the island, no one with diabetes that she knew of. It would essentially be rendered useless. Jill didn't enjoy feeling useless.
With her hair tied back, she sat at the table in the kitchen, scrolling through endless pages of useless work. Things that would never mean anything again unless she could get back home, all the work she'd ever done, all the work she'd poured her life into it. And maybe she was just feeling sorry for herself because she was turning thirty-six, but she figured she was entitled to it. Just this one.