Monday:
I woke before the sun.
I enjoyed a slow shower, slow cup of freshly pressed coffee, and a leisurely view of the sunrise out my window.
Then I received a call letting me know that I was horribly late for my new research assistant job on campus.
Shit. I forgot about that.
I highly recommend, just once in your life, attempting to get dressed in nearly freezing weather, at full sprint, down a public street. No worries kids, I made sure my wellies were on before I flew out the front door. Priorities darlings.
In an unfathomable display of generosity, the bus driver chose to acknowledge my screams and stop the bus just as he was pulling out into traffic. What I failed to gather when dashing out the door, however, was my bus pass. So I did the American thing and threw too much money at him and took a seat. The bus driver was left confused and anxious, befuddled and mumbling to himself, but he did my bidding all the same. Catching the bus at least allowed me the chance to finish snapping on my bra and properly wrap up my scarf.
I arrived with seconds to spare. As soon as my things were carelessly flung to the corner of the testing lab, 20 undergraduate participants began lining up, ready to perform the last task in the PhD student's experiment. As she attempted to explain my duties, I realised I wasn't the only one having trouble getting my shit together that morning. Poor thing. The participants were to gamble for real money and I was the designated bank. The first participant won, and I asked the PhD what to give him. She handed me a paper bag impregnated with smaller bags of coins coupled with a dismissive "Here", then turned to tend to the next participant in line. The first participant won £2. I spied several small plastic bags of silver coins, and delivered one unto the student. What I actually managed to do, as I was soon to find out, was give the first participant £10 in 50 pence coins. The bags were not, as I thought, pre-divided into the payout options, but were in standard UK-bank coin bags, segregated by denomination. Well, poop.
So I Americaned out again. I knew I had roughly 10 minutes before the second round of participants were ready and a bank lay less than 10 minutes away. I turned to this ever so young and now frazzled PhD student and convinced her to calm the fuck down.... I got this.
I ran to the bank. Procured a £10 bag of 50 pence coins from my account. The moment I left the bank, however, I knew I wasn't going to make it in time. Even at a full sprint (assuming I had that in me sans breakfast) I seriously doubted my physical abilities at that point.
But what was this? A refuse truck headed in the same direction? Right up the main road? I jumped onto the passenger side foot lift and asked if they were headed north. They confirmed and I yelled through the partially opened window that I was "in serious need of transportation help", "frightfully late", and would jump off at corner X & Y.... IF ONLY I COULD JUST SNAG A RIDE FOR THE GIBBET HILL STRETCH!?
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up riding the outside of a refuse truck to save someone's research study. Was it all worth it? Do you really need to ask :)
I woke before the sun.
I enjoyed a slow shower, slow cup of freshly pressed coffee, and a leisurely view of the sunrise out my window.
Then I received a call letting me know that I was horribly late for my new research assistant job on campus.
Shit. I forgot about that.
I highly recommend, just once in your life, attempting to get dressed in nearly freezing weather, at full sprint, down a public street. No worries kids, I made sure my wellies were on before I flew out the front door. Priorities darlings.
In an unfathomable display of generosity, the bus driver chose to acknowledge my screams and stop the bus just as he was pulling out into traffic. What I failed to gather when dashing out the door, however, was my bus pass. So I did the American thing and threw too much money at him and took a seat. The bus driver was left confused and anxious, befuddled and mumbling to himself, but he did my bidding all the same. Catching the bus at least allowed me the chance to finish snapping on my bra and properly wrap up my scarf.
I arrived with seconds to spare. As soon as my things were carelessly flung to the corner of the testing lab, 20 undergraduate participants began lining up, ready to perform the last task in the PhD student's experiment. As she attempted to explain my duties, I realised I wasn't the only one having trouble getting my shit together that morning. Poor thing. The participants were to gamble for real money and I was the designated bank. The first participant won, and I asked the PhD what to give him. She handed me a paper bag impregnated with smaller bags of coins coupled with a dismissive "Here", then turned to tend to the next participant in line. The first participant won £2. I spied several small plastic bags of silver coins, and delivered one unto the student. What I actually managed to do, as I was soon to find out, was give the first participant £10 in 50 pence coins. The bags were not, as I thought, pre-divided into the payout options, but were in standard UK-bank coin bags, segregated by denomination. Well, poop.
So I Americaned out again. I knew I had roughly 10 minutes before the second round of participants were ready and a bank lay less than 10 minutes away. I turned to this ever so young and now frazzled PhD student and convinced her to calm the fuck down.... I got this.
I ran to the bank. Procured a £10 bag of 50 pence coins from my account. The moment I left the bank, however, I knew I wasn't going to make it in time. Even at a full sprint (assuming I had that in me sans breakfast) I seriously doubted my physical abilities at that point.
But what was this? A refuse truck headed in the same direction? Right up the main road? I jumped onto the passenger side foot lift and asked if they were headed north. They confirmed and I yelled through the partially opened window that I was "in serious need of transportation help", "frightfully late", and would jump off at corner X & Y.... IF ONLY I COULD JUST SNAG A RIDE FOR THE GIBBET HILL STRETCH!?
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up riding the outside of a refuse truck to save someone's research study. Was it all worth it? Do you really need to ask :)
Tuesday:
What to say about Tuesday...
Tuesday is the second day in the traditional work week. Tuesday is the sixty-fifth workday in a postgraduate week. Tuesday carries a momentum with magical, other worldly powers that keeps the mover moving until Friday. Well, Friday afternoon, at least.
This evening I took a deliberate leap and met with a professor who's single lecture pushed me to question assumptions I wasn't even aware needed questioning. He graciously agreed to a late-in-the-day meeting. Afterwork meetings are a touchy business. As the asker, one must be aware that the receiver can be mentally exhausted by this time. He (or she) is wearing a full workday by this point. A Tuesday workday, at that. He, in this case, could have easily dismissed my inquiries, belittled my pensive, probing questions, and left me feeling quite impotent, due to his own fatigue driven honesty.
Or...
He could have exhibited a rare openness that can also stem from the same fatigue driven honesty. I was lucky enough to be the recipient of the latter.
I predicated this meeting upon my desires for a PhD. The meeting, however, turned into a delightful exchange of philosophical ideas. We discussed Thoreau, Emerson, Mill, Russell, Wittgenstein, rationality, object-based vs. subject-based science, & more. Even the notion of the sustainability of a rock became a topic of severe interest. He's one of the few people I've met who allowed me quiet reflection in the middle of our discussion. This meeting gave me food for thought. Precisely what I needed.
Wednesday:
Day of reflection.
Life is everything imaginable. Strap in and I hope you enjoy the ride.
Here are some pictures:
Thursday:
There's nothing quite like reviewing an entire course's information in 2 frightfully short hours.
Friday:
Last day of Term 1.
We were kicked out of the private, postgrad work space 3 hours before the Assessment #3 deadline, for our "safety". A peaceful student protest was scheduled to be held in front of the building in 2 hours. When I say kicked out, I mean they had to send in the cops to remove me from my work space. I was the last hold out. It started with the director of the postgrad space asking us all to leave. After several visits, it ended with him imploring me - the last holdout - to leave. I remember at some point yelling out, "I protest the protest!" It officially ended when I realised the cops standing in front of me were just a couple short breaths away from bodily removing me from my work space "for my safety". My only thoughts were for the safety of my laptop and the oh, so precious non-backed-up work on it. So I left of my own accord, flanked by cops to be sure, but walking on my own two feet. I won't go so easily next time, however. Next time, I will remember I have Dropbox 2.0.22, and insurance.
By late lunch I was busy having drinks with fellow postgrads at one of the campus pubs. This was closely followed by a liquid PhD meeting at the next campus pub. The day came to a close with one last, yet spectacularly terrible, cider closer with a friend at a third campus pub. I slept until Sunday.
SEE YOU IN THE NEW YEAR :D
What to say about Tuesday...
Tuesday is the second day in the traditional work week. Tuesday is the sixty-fifth workday in a postgraduate week. Tuesday carries a momentum with magical, other worldly powers that keeps the mover moving until Friday. Well, Friday afternoon, at least.
This evening I took a deliberate leap and met with a professor who's single lecture pushed me to question assumptions I wasn't even aware needed questioning. He graciously agreed to a late-in-the-day meeting. Afterwork meetings are a touchy business. As the asker, one must be aware that the receiver can be mentally exhausted by this time. He (or she) is wearing a full workday by this point. A Tuesday workday, at that. He, in this case, could have easily dismissed my inquiries, belittled my pensive, probing questions, and left me feeling quite impotent, due to his own fatigue driven honesty.
Or...
He could have exhibited a rare openness that can also stem from the same fatigue driven honesty. I was lucky enough to be the recipient of the latter.
I predicated this meeting upon my desires for a PhD. The meeting, however, turned into a delightful exchange of philosophical ideas. We discussed Thoreau, Emerson, Mill, Russell, Wittgenstein, rationality, object-based vs. subject-based science, & more. Even the notion of the sustainability of a rock became a topic of severe interest. He's one of the few people I've met who allowed me quiet reflection in the middle of our discussion. This meeting gave me food for thought. Precisely what I needed.
Working title: The Wrong Side Of An Economics Lecture
The clock is not moving.
.
.
.
.
.
I'm sitting here,
Victim to destructive thoughts of sanity,
And the clock refuses to tick.
.
.
.
Neither will it tock.
.
.
What does this clock have against me?
Have I wasted too much of it's gift?
Have I spent too frivolously?
.
.
.
The silence.
A resounding,
A resounding,
Yes.
.
.
.
This is my punishment.
This is the consequent for my frivolities.
Time refuses to allow me further forward progression.
Time has shut me out.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Tick, you bastard.
tick.
Wednesday:
Day of reflection.
Life is everything imaginable. Strap in and I hope you enjoy the ride.
Here are some pictures:
So far, I'm the only postgruadate this term from the states.
I don't know who this goose is, but he's got his own shack on an island in the middle of the city. Cool.
This goose danced for me. It only seemed polite to take his picture and applaud his two-step.
Abandoned downtown bus station at 15 to 2(am).
Thursday:
There's nothing quite like reviewing an entire course's information in 2 frightfully short hours.
Friday:
Last day of Term 1.
We were kicked out of the private, postgrad work space 3 hours before the Assessment #3 deadline, for our "safety". A peaceful student protest was scheduled to be held in front of the building in 2 hours. When I say kicked out, I mean they had to send in the cops to remove me from my work space. I was the last hold out. It started with the director of the postgrad space asking us all to leave. After several visits, it ended with him imploring me - the last holdout - to leave. I remember at some point yelling out, "I protest the protest!" It officially ended when I realised the cops standing in front of me were just a couple short breaths away from bodily removing me from my work space "for my safety". My only thoughts were for the safety of my laptop and the oh, so precious non-backed-up work on it. So I left of my own accord, flanked by cops to be sure, but walking on my own two feet. I won't go so easily next time, however. Next time, I will remember I have Dropbox 2.0.22, and insurance.
By late lunch I was busy having drinks with fellow postgrads at one of the campus pubs. This was closely followed by a liquid PhD meeting at the next campus pub. The day came to a close with one last, yet spectacularly terrible, cider closer with a friend at a third campus pub. I slept until Sunday.
SEE YOU IN THE NEW YEAR :D
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