I just can't hack this daily torture of blank DNA gels. Sometimes I do hundreds of PCRs in a day, and every single day they just do not work. Where are the little white strips, seriously? Even after I corrected my idiotic mistake, things just are not working. I came back to work eager to shift the long To Do list, and here I am not able to begin. I can't take this constant failure. It is squishing me.
Then there are other things, other forms of torture going on at work that are just the limit for my small sense of self confidence. I shall write about them soon. They involve plant nookie. Dear God. Is that not what bees were invented for?
I am of no use to anyone in this state. I am too dejected and feeble. And just last week the BFG and I were scheming life plans. Now I feel too afraid to scheme life plans. Will my boss put up with this nothingness for much longer? I doubt he could fire me that quickly, there are probably laws against it, but at this rate I will be quitting soon. You can't make life plans about the future when you think you could be fired every day.
The only way I have not broken down into a puddle of tears is by mainlining music. Where would we be without music? Music has probably saved more suicidal people than any other thing. It is the only thing that can make me feel better.
My discovery of the week is Mumford and Sons, who are very successful in the UK. I was previously obsessed with some American boys from Vegas who try to imitate Brit pop and indie.
Now these Mumford guys are from London, but they are going for a full on hillbilly folk sound, replete with banjos and half-American accents. Who could not love a bunch of English banjo-boys?
Hooray for the banjo-boys, I think they may have saved my life this week.
Banjos aside, FUCK MY LIFE.