Ambivalence

I filled two prescriptions today: one for birth control and one for prenatal vitamins. As you might imagine, the pharmacist asked me about the combination since usually they only fill prescriptions for one of those at a time. I explained that my husband and I are going to start trying in a few months, and I just wanted to fill both prescriptions at once. Really, it's more because I'm undecided. I know right now is not the time to get pregnant. I also know I'm sick of taking birth control (even if it does make me less grouchy and makes periods short and far more pleasant). I want a baby, but I want to live, oh, I don't know, in the same place as Derrick when I have one. And then there's the whole working with funky chemicals that I do on a daily basis that may be a very good reason to postpone pregnancy. There are moments when the thought of having a baby makes me seriously sick to my stomach, and others when my non-pregnant state causes me pain in my bowels (what a lovely image that is, I'm sure).

This is such an amazingly complicated decision. How does anyone decide?

Float on

My junior year at tech I moved into my own apartment. It was a rather spare space with one cushioned chair (where I spent the majority of my waking hours), a table with a couple of additional chairs, and a bed (my first at tech--before I'd always slept on couches) all inhabiting a single large room. The only sprucing up I did was to scatter glow-in-the-dark stars over the wall above my bed and put my stereo and a few books on the enormous entertainment center on one wall (coincidentally, that's also the last apartment where I didn't have television). It was my space, in a way, but I never really moved into it, never made it mine. I was always camping in some sense. The furniture was, of course, standard housing furniture, and the dishes I used were borrowed or disposable. I'll never forget the first time I tried to cook with my then boyfriend in that apartment. We made a delicious Thai dish with coconut milk and chicken and it wasn't until we went to eat it that I realized the only silverware I had was a set of bamboo chopsticks from the local Mongolian restaurant, and a couple of plastic forks gathered from other local eateries.

Fast forward to my newest own apartment and it's quite a different story. I can't move by myself anymore because I have real furniture, and even without the furniture I have an impressive collection of stuff that has to be carted from one spot to another. One thing that hasn't changed is my lack of dishes. I have wonderful, high-quality pans for cooking, but for eating I'm limited to a motley array of rubbermaid storage containers, the green glasses Karla inherited from someone else and never used, and a couple of plates I snagged at a yard sale. Money's a little tight after moving (predictably) so I had every intention of not buying anything unnecessary, but yesterday morning I realized I'd used all of my round rubbermaids to store leftovers for lunch and consequently had nothing suitable for my cereal. What did I do? I went out and bought myself a couple of cheap glass bowls, and a couple of small plates while I was at it.

It's a strange thing to realize I'm not willing to camp out in a place anymore--not only do I want a space that's mine, I want to have in it all of the various utensils and accoutrements to which I've become accustomed. I'm feeling ambivalent about this aspect of growing up. On one hand it's probably a good thing I've come to appreciate the niceties of a real home to the extent that I now try to create a home for myself, but on the other hand I kind of miss living a spartan life, enduring the slight discomforts of making do with what's at hand instead of immediately going out and buying the "optimal" solution.

Data!

I hate killing sea monkies.

I know it's for a good cause (research and all) but I hate killing them anyway. I drown them in ethanol and the wriggle and writhe like they're in pain (they probably are, after all). Somehow working as hard as I have just to kill them in the end seems contradictory.

I am so never doing research on living things again. I'm anthropomorphosizing crustaceans, for heaven's sake! It's a good think algae don't have eyes or I'd probably feel sad for killing them, too.

On the plus side, I have data! We're still working on standards for oxygen and hydrogen, so I decided to measure my natural samples for CN. For the amount of work I put into my stable isotopes class I figured I should get at least one potentially useful data set. So, here it is:



Cool, huh?

Apparently, there's a shift in the Nitrogen isotopes of my little brine shrimp somewhere between September and October. Not sure why yet--my current theories are this could be an input of light nitrogen from someplace else making its way into the brine shrimp biomass, or it could be the physiology of the little beasties getting ready for massive cyst production (maybe?).

Home, sweet home

I'm all moved in!

I still have boxes to unpack and closets to organize, and I'm coming to the realization that a bookshelf is a must have, as is a desk, but it's my house, it's my mess, and I can do with it what I want. I can walk around in my pj's because 1) I have no roommate, and 2) I close the blinds at night before I go to bed. I love the freedom of being able to walk around in my house in whatever state of dress or undress I choose (weird, huh?). All of the cabinets in the kitchen are mine, all of the dishes are mine, all of the food is mine.

The only thing missing is Derrick :)

Just in case I'd forgotten...

So, I finished my laundry this morning (last chance for free laundry for a while) and as I was putting my sheets in the dryer my roommate said, "Don't forget the lint screen." Such a tiny, seemingly innocuous comment, and yet, a perfect reminder of why I'm leaving.

I forgot to change the lint screen once when she was present, and forever after I've been in her mind irresponsible and incapable of remembering even simple things (at least, that's my interpretation from the amount she bosses me around). If it's not the lint screen it's the dirt I track in from the garden (a hobby of which she disapproves for women), or snow that comes in on my boots in winter; it's having to ask permission for my friends to come over (I'm 29! She's not my mother!); and most of all, it's her request that I and my husband find someplace to be other than the house I'm paying half the rent for so she can feel comfortable in her house. I suspect this woman is probably overbearing and mothering to just about everyone she comes in contact with, but living with her just presents so many apparently irresistible opportunities for her to show how much more than me she knows, how much more responsible and considerate she is, and how much better she could live my life than I do.

Yesterday she helped me move some of my stuff to my new apartment. Halfway there I realized she wasn't behind me anymore, so I slowed down to see if she'd catch up. Surprise, surprise, she was waiting for me at my apartment building. Her point was made--she knows how to get around this town better than I do. If I get annoyed at someone else's one-upmanship does that indicate I'm competitive too, or just thin-skinned?

I was almost feeling badly for all the mean thoughts I've had about her (I probably still should, but I'm now planning to procrastinate my future change of heart for a few more days at least). Since Derrick went home six weeks ago she's been downright cheerful most days--I think she's been snarly only a few times. I guess it's easier for her to deal with me when there isn't a constant physical reminder around (like my husband) that I have the life she so desperately wants in spite of my ineptitude and unrighteousness.

Bartimaeus

I finished the last book of the Bartimaeus trilogy, Ptolemy's Gate, by Jonathan Stroud. I would highly recommend this trilogy to anyone who likes fantasy. It chronicles the adventures, and misadventures, of a djinni named Bartimaeus and his master, Nathaniel, and a common girl named Kitty Jones. It's witty, fast-paced, and refreshingly original. The wizards that populate Stroud's book, with their paranoid, control-freakish tendencies and magical technologies, make the lawyers of our world look friendly and laid back. If Harry Potter ends as well as this trilogy did, I will be extremely pleased.

I'm spending much of today getting things ready to move tomorrow. I am so excited about the new place! It's my own--I get to arrange the furniture and decorate as I see fit, I don't have to share kitchen space anymore. Living by myself is going to be awesome.

Red House

I'm moving on Saturday to my own apartment (yeah!). It's been nice living in a cheap place for the last year and a half, but it's also rather a pain having a roommate. I've also discovered that in the three years since I got married I've turned from a responsible, trustworthy adult into a credit risk. Grr. Turns out that if your name isn't on any utilities bills for 3 years you have to re-prove your worthiness to receive things like electricity without putting $170 deposit down. So, here's a lesson to all of you getting married: keep your name on the utilities so if anything should happen to your husband, your marriage, or your career, people will still think you're a responsible adult!