Heard during what was actually a very well-presented seminar:
"This is [my favorite protein]. It is a rectangle, with [several] small squares in it."
(This will only make sense if you're familiar with the typical cartoon illustrations of primary protein structures. If you aren't, well, sorry. As an example, try something like this protein, the first free link to a protein chosen at random from a list of bromodomain containing proteins--which chosen at random from a list of domains. If you're actually bored enough to be google-stalking me, this won't help. And if you're that bored, just send me an e-mail--I'll probably even tell you who I am. Probably.)
Monday, November 02, 2009
Sunday, November 01, 2009
One of those random, sad-inducing discoveries
Told in two short parts. As I mentioned, Dad wants to talk about and deal with The Stuff. In addition to boxes and boxes and boxes of clothes, and boxes and boxes and boxes of material for sewing, and boxes and boxes and boxes of craft supplies, there are boxes and boxes and boxes of puzzles.
I've always enjoyed jigsaw puzzles. I'm frighteningly good at them--at seeing the patterns, and spotting the tiny bit of color that makes one piece in a pile of hundreds the one I want. Most people won't assemble jigsaws with me. And, with four cats, I certainly don't do them at home. There's really no point, as a certain blue cat would undoubtedly eat at least 50 pieces, and a certain Princess cat hide another 50 under furniture, and I'd never finish. So puzzles were reserved for visits to my parents. And as mom grew sicker, they were the one thing we would always do together at holidays.
Last year, the puzzle assembly was done at a near frantic pace. I think we both knew then that, realistically, we'd never do any again--not together or individually. We somehow managed to assemble every puzzle in the closet that neither of us had done. This included more than a few murder mystery puzzles, a few of the painfully busy, incredible difficult, old, expert only puzzles, and a few less difficult ones that Nephew could help with. But while it was fun, at the same time it was painful--one last, and at times desperate, attempt to enjoy the remaining time together. One more thing to cross off of the bucket list--assemble every remaining jigsaw puzzle--check.
The previous year was not so frenetic. We did no more than one puzzle a night (puzzle assembly being done on the dinner table meant limited time to assemble, though even that rule was broken last year--at least one night Brother had a partially assembled puzzle under his placemat).
But one of those puzzles was special. An Impossibles, we knew it would be difficult--no border, extra pieces, repeating patterns--so we didn't start it until after the kids had left to visit Teh Moron. It took us a few days to finish. As I was listening to dad list the things he had found while sorting through The Stuff, I wondered about that puzzle. Of the hundreds we've done over the years, that is the most special one to me. But it appears to be gone. We had the habit of giving puzzles to friends once we'd solved them once, so as to make room for new puzzles.
There's no good reason for me to have it. Cats and all, it's not as though I'd be likely to ever assemble it. I decided that it was probably just as well if it's found a new home with someone who will enjoy it, but wished I had something more tangible.
In revisiting the idea of blogging again, I decided to log in to the blog's flickr account tonight, just to check that things were still OK in my absence. It was then that I discovered a photo that had inexplicably been marked Private. As this account really serves only to feed the blog, I have no idea why I'd bother hiding something in it, but there you go. I remember now that it took so long for us to assemble this one, that we deemed photographic evidence of our success necessary.
A somewhat random photo, stored in a most unusual place, uncovered right when I needed to find it. And who knows, perhaps in sorting through The Stuff, I'll find the puzzle itself, hidden in a spot separate from the new puzzles she had somehow acquired for us to assemble this coming holiday. If I do, I may well send it off to help build a memory for someone else. And if any of the new puzzles aren't too hard, perhaps it's time to start making memories with Nephew.
I've always enjoyed jigsaw puzzles. I'm frighteningly good at them--at seeing the patterns, and spotting the tiny bit of color that makes one piece in a pile of hundreds the one I want. Most people won't assemble jigsaws with me. And, with four cats, I certainly don't do them at home. There's really no point, as a certain blue cat would undoubtedly eat at least 50 pieces, and a certain Princess cat hide another 50 under furniture, and I'd never finish. So puzzles were reserved for visits to my parents. And as mom grew sicker, they were the one thing we would always do together at holidays.
Last year, the puzzle assembly was done at a near frantic pace. I think we both knew then that, realistically, we'd never do any again--not together or individually. We somehow managed to assemble every puzzle in the closet that neither of us had done. This included more than a few murder mystery puzzles, a few of the painfully busy, incredible difficult, old, expert only puzzles, and a few less difficult ones that Nephew could help with. But while it was fun, at the same time it was painful--one last, and at times desperate, attempt to enjoy the remaining time together. One more thing to cross off of the bucket list--assemble every remaining jigsaw puzzle--check.
The previous year was not so frenetic. We did no more than one puzzle a night (puzzle assembly being done on the dinner table meant limited time to assemble, though even that rule was broken last year--at least one night Brother had a partially assembled puzzle under his placemat).
But one of those puzzles was special. An Impossibles, we knew it would be difficult--no border, extra pieces, repeating patterns--so we didn't start it until after the kids had left to visit Teh Moron. It took us a few days to finish. As I was listening to dad list the things he had found while sorting through The Stuff, I wondered about that puzzle. Of the hundreds we've done over the years, that is the most special one to me. But it appears to be gone. We had the habit of giving puzzles to friends once we'd solved them once, so as to make room for new puzzles.
There's no good reason for me to have it. Cats and all, it's not as though I'd be likely to ever assemble it. I decided that it was probably just as well if it's found a new home with someone who will enjoy it, but wished I had something more tangible.
In revisiting the idea of blogging again, I decided to log in to the blog's flickr account tonight, just to check that things were still OK in my absence. It was then that I discovered a photo that had inexplicably been marked Private. As this account really serves only to feed the blog, I have no idea why I'd bother hiding something in it, but there you go. I remember now that it took so long for us to assemble this one, that we deemed photographic evidence of our success necessary.
A somewhat random photo, stored in a most unusual place, uncovered right when I needed to find it. And who knows, perhaps in sorting through The Stuff, I'll find the puzzle itself, hidden in a spot separate from the new puzzles she had somehow acquired for us to assemble this coming holiday. If I do, I may well send it off to help build a memory for someone else. And if any of the new puzzles aren't too hard, perhaps it's time to start making memories with Nephew.
Stages
This week I was once again reminded of the nonlinearity of grief. It's very tempting to fool oneself into thinking that grief is and somehow should be linear and short-lived, but there is danger in so doing. I can look back over the year or two prior to her death and recognize the process in myself--the denial, much anger, much depression, a small amount of bargaining, still more anger and depression--so it's puzzling that I should expect the death side of dying to be any different.
And yet, I do. It's no state secret that I'm not what you'd call a fan of emotions. I don't even think you need to read my blog to be able to figure that out. And so when emotions surface and hang around awhile, they frustrate me. I try to treat them with logic. There, there. It's not really that bad. You don't need to be crying. She wouldn't want you to still be sad, so stop now. No, really. Stop. I said, stop, dammit! You're a grown-up! This isn't that bad! It's been months! You should be fine now!
Strangely enough, this approach? Not so successful. I still find it borderline hilarious that so many people comment on just how patient I am. They've never been in my head. Patience? Not really. I want this to stop and to stop right now!
But it doesn't. It won't. And any attempt to try to force it to will not only fail but lengthen the process. I do know all of these things. I realized though, that writing was what was enabling me to work through the process, and by cutting myself off from that outlet, I was only slowing myself down. I was somewhat surprised to realize that writing for an audience of one doesn't help. If no one else is going to ever read my words, I don't spend much time trying to be coherent (not that I necessarily succeed when I do try). But I've learned that it's less the act of writing the words themselves that helps, but rather the editing of the words--ruminating on the best way to express a thought, how to better illustrate a point--that allows my brain to work through problems. The fact that it often takes days to compose a post in the back of my brain before it's ever typed out while writing for myself alone takes mere minutes with little planning and no revising makes essentially the same words therapeutic in the former and all but useless in the latter.
So. Stages. At least now I know that the number of types of stages I have to deal with are limited. Denial? Well, there's really no denying dead. And bargaining? Again, you know, dead. I never liked The Monkey's Paw. So that leaves just the two big ones. First, anger. Already been there. The first month or two was actually...OK. But sometime around July, I couldn't listen to the whining of labmates anymore. There was an epidemic of UnFair spreading around that for some reason kept landing on my desk--it's UnFair that I have to do this small lab chore, it's UnFair that other person doesn't have to do this other big favor for me, it's UnFair, UnFair, UnFair! I dealt with what now to me seems like a surprisingly large amount of the UnFairs until one day I realized I couldn't listen to one more. I told PI, I can't do this. I can't keep listening to petty whining every day and fixing things that really aren't broken. I just can't.
She didn't ask why, just said, you don't have to, and dealt with it. I was Angry. Yes, with a Capital A. UnFair? You want UnFair? After years of fighting and arguing and...years spent barely speaking, we had finally started to be able to enjoy one another when the fucking cancer came back. That. Is. UnFair. Having to make TBS while that person "only" has to make gel markers? Whiny crybaby shit. So, take your UnFair and shove it up your ass! So, yeah. Capital Angry.
PI and I later had a long conversation, that included this topic, while sitting in an airport coffee shop waiting for a plane. I told her what had really been going on during that time. She winced. Quietly said, I'm sorry. That she had wondered, and wondered if she should ask, but didn't in a desire to not encroach on my space. I replied that I appreciated that, but that should she think my response to a given situation seemed to be out of proportion to the observable evidence, she would not offend me in asking. I might not answer, but she could ask.
Am I done with that? Not totally. I don't expect I will be any time soon. Anger is, I think, the hardest of the emotions for me to get past. It moves in ebbs and flows like the tide. This pattern can be an advantage though. Triggers are easily noticed, when attention is paid to them. As long as it doesn't become misdirected, taking out innocent bystanders, it can be beneficial. Once recognized, that energy can be channeled into more productive tasks. Like, cleaning. My house could use a good burst of Angry right about now...
But now, unfortunately, I've moved into a rather different stage. The Stage of Sads. Random in occurrence, the Sads pop up with little or no warning. Perhaps it's coming across an object that is tied to a particularly poignant memory, or the realization that yet another piece of knowledge you require has been forever lost. And sometimes--it just happens. This week has had more than its share of idiopathic Sads. Part is likely due to the rather mundane problem that is fall, the loss of daylight. Part is likely due to the thought of the upcoming holidays, and having to get through them without their primary driver. And part is due to The Stuff.
Dad has suddenly decided that The Stuff needs to be dealt with Now. He's pushing harder and harder for me to take a long weekend and drive over, sort The Stuff, and drive back home with a car full of Stuff. Did I mention that I've already brought one car load home? That my study is currently full of Stuff? That in over four months I have yet to be able to bring myself to do anything with The Stuff I already have? That I spend as little time in my study with it as possible? And I know, it's not that I can't. I just currently don't want to. And while there is Stuff there that I would very much like to have, I'm not sure if I'm ready to have it right now.
So there you have it. What was Anger is now anger and Random Sads. I need to deal with The Stuff before The Random Sads will have a chance at going away, or more realistically, staying away for longer periods and losing intensity when they put in their surprise appearances. But, actually, mostly I am rather fine. Eating, sleeping, working--all are good. Science is cool again. I did a type of experiment this afternoon that I'd not done in more than a year and realized just how much I'd missed the sights and smells associated with it. Success in all of my own preps, troubleshooting someone else's prep, taking apart misbehaving equipment, sitting around a table with the group and arguing science over cookies--in many ways this was a very good week. So, I am happy. And I am also sad. Both of these things normal, and both of these things OK. But only one of these things gets to stay long-term. I'm looking forward to reaching stage 5 someday.
And yet, I do. It's no state secret that I'm not what you'd call a fan of emotions. I don't even think you need to read my blog to be able to figure that out. And so when emotions surface and hang around awhile, they frustrate me. I try to treat them with logic. There, there. It's not really that bad. You don't need to be crying. She wouldn't want you to still be sad, so stop now. No, really. Stop. I said, stop, dammit! You're a grown-up! This isn't that bad! It's been months! You should be fine now!
Strangely enough, this approach? Not so successful. I still find it borderline hilarious that so many people comment on just how patient I am. They've never been in my head. Patience? Not really. I want this to stop and to stop right now!
But it doesn't. It won't. And any attempt to try to force it to will not only fail but lengthen the process. I do know all of these things. I realized though, that writing was what was enabling me to work through the process, and by cutting myself off from that outlet, I was only slowing myself down. I was somewhat surprised to realize that writing for an audience of one doesn't help. If no one else is going to ever read my words, I don't spend much time trying to be coherent (not that I necessarily succeed when I do try). But I've learned that it's less the act of writing the words themselves that helps, but rather the editing of the words--ruminating on the best way to express a thought, how to better illustrate a point--that allows my brain to work through problems. The fact that it often takes days to compose a post in the back of my brain before it's ever typed out while writing for myself alone takes mere minutes with little planning and no revising makes essentially the same words therapeutic in the former and all but useless in the latter.
So. Stages. At least now I know that the number of types of stages I have to deal with are limited. Denial? Well, there's really no denying dead. And bargaining? Again, you know, dead. I never liked The Monkey's Paw. So that leaves just the two big ones. First, anger. Already been there. The first month or two was actually...OK. But sometime around July, I couldn't listen to the whining of labmates anymore. There was an epidemic of UnFair spreading around that for some reason kept landing on my desk--it's UnFair that I have to do this small lab chore, it's UnFair that other person doesn't have to do this other big favor for me, it's UnFair, UnFair, UnFair! I dealt with what now to me seems like a surprisingly large amount of the UnFairs until one day I realized I couldn't listen to one more. I told PI, I can't do this. I can't keep listening to petty whining every day and fixing things that really aren't broken. I just can't.
She didn't ask why, just said, you don't have to, and dealt with it. I was Angry. Yes, with a Capital A. UnFair? You want UnFair? After years of fighting and arguing and...years spent barely speaking, we had finally started to be able to enjoy one another when the fucking cancer came back. That. Is. UnFair. Having to make TBS while that person "only" has to make gel markers? Whiny crybaby shit. So, take your UnFair and shove it up your ass! So, yeah. Capital Angry.
PI and I later had a long conversation, that included this topic, while sitting in an airport coffee shop waiting for a plane. I told her what had really been going on during that time. She winced. Quietly said, I'm sorry. That she had wondered, and wondered if she should ask, but didn't in a desire to not encroach on my space. I replied that I appreciated that, but that should she think my response to a given situation seemed to be out of proportion to the observable evidence, she would not offend me in asking. I might not answer, but she could ask.
Am I done with that? Not totally. I don't expect I will be any time soon. Anger is, I think, the hardest of the emotions for me to get past. It moves in ebbs and flows like the tide. This pattern can be an advantage though. Triggers are easily noticed, when attention is paid to them. As long as it doesn't become misdirected, taking out innocent bystanders, it can be beneficial. Once recognized, that energy can be channeled into more productive tasks. Like, cleaning. My house could use a good burst of Angry right about now...
But now, unfortunately, I've moved into a rather different stage. The Stage of Sads. Random in occurrence, the Sads pop up with little or no warning. Perhaps it's coming across an object that is tied to a particularly poignant memory, or the realization that yet another piece of knowledge you require has been forever lost. And sometimes--it just happens. This week has had more than its share of idiopathic Sads. Part is likely due to the rather mundane problem that is fall, the loss of daylight. Part is likely due to the thought of the upcoming holidays, and having to get through them without their primary driver. And part is due to The Stuff.
Dad has suddenly decided that The Stuff needs to be dealt with Now. He's pushing harder and harder for me to take a long weekend and drive over, sort The Stuff, and drive back home with a car full of Stuff. Did I mention that I've already brought one car load home? That my study is currently full of Stuff? That in over four months I have yet to be able to bring myself to do anything with The Stuff I already have? That I spend as little time in my study with it as possible? And I know, it's not that I can't. I just currently don't want to. And while there is Stuff there that I would very much like to have, I'm not sure if I'm ready to have it right now.
So there you have it. What was Anger is now anger and Random Sads. I need to deal with The Stuff before The Random Sads will have a chance at going away, or more realistically, staying away for longer periods and losing intensity when they put in their surprise appearances. But, actually, mostly I am rather fine. Eating, sleeping, working--all are good. Science is cool again. I did a type of experiment this afternoon that I'd not done in more than a year and realized just how much I'd missed the sights and smells associated with it. Success in all of my own preps, troubleshooting someone else's prep, taking apart misbehaving equipment, sitting around a table with the group and arguing science over cookies--in many ways this was a very good week. So, I am happy. And I am also sad. Both of these things normal, and both of these things OK. But only one of these things gets to stay long-term. I'm looking forward to reaching stage 5 someday.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
OK, so now I hate Halloween
WTF are you smoking neighbors? No, wait. Don't tell me, as I'm sure I don't want to know. I do appreciate the effort you went to to decorate, and it's good that at least one house in our neighborhood is willing to give out candy, but... We really don't need the Halloween sound effects tape at full volume. I'm in my completely closed house, with the TV turned all the way up, as well as the stereo, and I can still hear your fucking dogs barking, then getting hit by cars, deep moaning and chain rattling and whispering voices. Fucking assholes.
First, a general update
(Since not all of you are IRL friends, a rambly catch-up...)
The lab stuff that I was uncomfortable blogging about is over. It's odd, as it at no point reached the intensity level of what had happened in old lab, which I clearly had to qualms sharing with the world, but here... Maybe it's from having switched from an otherwise all male lab to a majority female one, but there's more attention paid to people's feelings here. Of course, at times, that attention consists of, Holy hell, I wish X would stop with the emotions, but at least emotions can be acknowledged.
So, how to sum up the events of the last six months? I was hired in as a senior to Person who was already here, for reasons I can't share, and in addition to a project of my own (which I get to design and run and even write for funding for, but only if I want to!) I was...encouraged to help out with a separate project. Said project was stalled horribly, PI was frustrated, and Person on project, well...let's just say there were a few problems. So, I helped design (and sometimes perform) experiments, and stalled project moved forward more this summer than it had for the previous couple of years. And then, following a few especially explosive weeks, Person quit. Said project is not done, but there is now some idea of which direction to take it and a new set of protocols to try. And sadly, the absence of the person who owned it for the past few years is probably going to only help move the project forward. A general rule of thumb to follow in science: if you aren't willing to optimize anything or to even follow an already optimized protocol because it seems too long, go work in retail. It's just easier for you and for everyone around you.
So now I'm on my own project nearly full time. As I have grant deadlines in February this doesn't mean I get to work any less hard, but that's OK. Initially being given all but a blank slate (you know, within the realms of "the R01 needs this" reality that is big academic science) was scary as hell. OMG!!11!! I have to think of something! Anything! But now, having designed the preliminary discovery experiments and getting ready to start them (today! as in, doing it as I write this post!) it's a bit thrilling. It's still slightly scary--What if I'm wrong, and this discovery doesn't discover me anything on which I can build, and I'm out 3 weeks time, and have no data, and...--but it's not really. I want to write grants, but I don't have to. So long as PI continues to have funding I'm covered. (Not that she would complain if I brought in money of my own.) So it's a bit like my own little sandbox--within the boundaries of which I can play with whatever I want, so long as I don't steal someone else's bucket, and as long as the group as a whole builds the sandcastle we promised the NIH, I don't yet have to worry about things like paying my rent. And did I mention that we have a lab manager? A lab manager who isn't me? That is so beyond awesome that I can't explain it. So, anyway. Science is cool again.
Cats. I thought I was going to have to put NABS down this summer. She was quite sick and we couldn't figure out why. So we scheduled one last round of more extensive tests that should definitively tell us what was wrong. And then, the day before that, she suddenly quit acting sick. Naturally. She's not OK. Her kidneys are in bad shape, and as I'm not going to give her fluids or daily pills, I know that her days with us are numbered. She seemed to be having a relapse last week, then was a bit better again. My goal is just to keep her happy and comfortable as long as possible and see what happens. 009 and Attention Slut continue to have sex. Attention Slut continues to chase Crazy Tortie. Crazy Tortie now thinks perhaps she and NABS should have sex. So, basically, everyone has sex in my bed except me.
Family. Not great, but surviving. Dad has abruptly hit the "must go through all of her stuff" stage. I'm not quite there yet, so this is causing a little friction between us. Nephew is still angry. Niece is still sad. But everyone moves forward, in their own way and at their own speed. We'll get there eventually.
To those who know my less secret online identity, there are pictures up on my Flickr, some of Niece and Nephew from our vacation this summer, some of things like flowers and animals, in my usual no pictures for weeks followed by hundreds in a day style. If the weather and the experiments cooperate tomorrow, there may well be another batch of hundreds tomorrow night. I've been trying to get a bit better at things like framing and focus and not using auto settings. I'm even starting to think about maybe getting a DSLR and really learning something new for next spring. Maybe. We'll see. Oh, and I finally did real roller coasters this month! It had been much, much too long.
I think, for now, that's about it. Perhaps I'll finish that hard post tonight. Crying in one's discovery experiment is seldom a good plan.
The lab stuff that I was uncomfortable blogging about is over. It's odd, as it at no point reached the intensity level of what had happened in old lab, which I clearly had to qualms sharing with the world, but here... Maybe it's from having switched from an otherwise all male lab to a majority female one, but there's more attention paid to people's feelings here. Of course, at times, that attention consists of, Holy hell, I wish X would stop with the emotions, but at least emotions can be acknowledged.
So, how to sum up the events of the last six months? I was hired in as a senior to Person who was already here, for reasons I can't share, and in addition to a project of my own (which I get to design and run and even write for funding for, but only if I want to!) I was...encouraged to help out with a separate project. Said project was stalled horribly, PI was frustrated, and Person on project, well...let's just say there were a few problems. So, I helped design (and sometimes perform) experiments, and stalled project moved forward more this summer than it had for the previous couple of years. And then, following a few especially explosive weeks, Person quit. Said project is not done, but there is now some idea of which direction to take it and a new set of protocols to try. And sadly, the absence of the person who owned it for the past few years is probably going to only help move the project forward. A general rule of thumb to follow in science: if you aren't willing to optimize anything or to even follow an already optimized protocol because it seems too long, go work in retail. It's just easier for you and for everyone around you.
So now I'm on my own project nearly full time. As I have grant deadlines in February this doesn't mean I get to work any less hard, but that's OK. Initially being given all but a blank slate (you know, within the realms of "the R01 needs this" reality that is big academic science) was scary as hell. OMG!!11!! I have to think of something! Anything! But now, having designed the preliminary discovery experiments and getting ready to start them (today! as in, doing it as I write this post!) it's a bit thrilling. It's still slightly scary--What if I'm wrong, and this discovery doesn't discover me anything on which I can build, and I'm out 3 weeks time, and have no data, and...--but it's not really. I want to write grants, but I don't have to. So long as PI continues to have funding I'm covered. (Not that she would complain if I brought in money of my own.) So it's a bit like my own little sandbox--within the boundaries of which I can play with whatever I want, so long as I don't steal someone else's bucket, and as long as the group as a whole builds the sandcastle we promised the NIH, I don't yet have to worry about things like paying my rent. And did I mention that we have a lab manager? A lab manager who isn't me? That is so beyond awesome that I can't explain it. So, anyway. Science is cool again.
Cats. I thought I was going to have to put NABS down this summer. She was quite sick and we couldn't figure out why. So we scheduled one last round of more extensive tests that should definitively tell us what was wrong. And then, the day before that, she suddenly quit acting sick. Naturally. She's not OK. Her kidneys are in bad shape, and as I'm not going to give her fluids or daily pills, I know that her days with us are numbered. She seemed to be having a relapse last week, then was a bit better again. My goal is just to keep her happy and comfortable as long as possible and see what happens. 009 and Attention Slut continue to have sex. Attention Slut continues to chase Crazy Tortie. Crazy Tortie now thinks perhaps she and NABS should have sex. So, basically, everyone has sex in my bed except me.
Family. Not great, but surviving. Dad has abruptly hit the "must go through all of her stuff" stage. I'm not quite there yet, so this is causing a little friction between us. Nephew is still angry. Niece is still sad. But everyone moves forward, in their own way and at their own speed. We'll get there eventually.
To those who know my less secret online identity, there are pictures up on my Flickr, some of Niece and Nephew from our vacation this summer, some of things like flowers and animals, in my usual no pictures for weeks followed by hundreds in a day style. If the weather and the experiments cooperate tomorrow, there may well be another batch of hundreds tomorrow night. I've been trying to get a bit better at things like framing and focus and not using auto settings. I'm even starting to think about maybe getting a DSLR and really learning something new for next spring. Maybe. We'll see. Oh, and I finally did real roller coasters this month! It had been much, much too long.
I think, for now, that's about it. Perhaps I'll finish that hard post tonight. Crying in one's discovery experiment is seldom a good plan.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Briefly
The main reason I had stopped blogging has left the building, and I need the space to work through things. So...I'm back. Whether my archives will stay or be pruned, and whether or not I'll let the googlebots visit again, I've not decided.
Given that several real life friends read this, I'm going to remind them of the rule that was put in place when I first started to write here--just because I write about something does not mean that I want to talk about it. In fact, if it seemed like it might have been hard to write, it probably means I really don't want to talk about it. If I feel pressured, I'll likely go back undercover.
But anyway, if anyone is still here...hi?
Given that several real life friends read this, I'm going to remind them of the rule that was put in place when I first started to write here--just because I write about something does not mean that I want to talk about it. In fact, if it seemed like it might have been hard to write, it probably means I really don't want to talk about it. If I feel pressured, I'll likely go back undercover.
But anyway, if anyone is still here...hi?
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