Becka (miss_rynn) wrote,

  • Mood:
  • Music:

Where have you been, Lord Randall my son?

I fell off the radar for a while because I was juggling illness, work, and work going wrong. The thing which shits me about my crappy immune system is that it only collapses when I really need it to keep me going - I seem to get really, really sick when I really, really can't afford to take time off.

After working through fever, muscle aches, no voice, sandpapered-feeling throat, coughing up unmentionable goo, and dizziness to the point of not-quite-passing-out-but-leaning-over-until-my-head-was-horizontal, yesterday the chemostat fucked up. Then I had to work a full day of APC and T cell assays.

I learned how to dissect out lymph nodes, broke down in tears, then got to play with the coboalt source at Chemistry. (For those who don't know, the coboalt is a highly radioactive metal with which we shoot gamma rays at things.) I think dealing with radiation is about as appealing as bursting into tears at work, which is also right up there with the end parts of animal work (who would have thought cerviacle dislocation was so twitchy?), so I got to do three of my least favourite things yesterday (as well as having some of my other work fuck up horribly).

I'm taking a half-day off today because I'm just a little over it. And still a bit sick. I need to go in today, though, to start setting up the mofo chemostat again - the experiment is still salvigable, you see. If I can get it going again by monday week, I can continue on for some decent results.

In other news, my mother dropped off her old bread machine yesterday, seeing as how I was the only one who ever used it anyway. Sure, the first loaf was a little disappointing, but there is someting rather comforting about the smell of baking bread.

Speaking of scents, I picked a sprig of jasmine yesterday on the way home. Jasmine smells like spring time, and warm summer nights under the stars.

And I am hardly surprised that hurdler woman didn't place - but she certainly gave it her all to get where she was.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.