There is absolutely no reason whatsoever for me to post this, and that is why it's being posted.
The migraine fled sometime between six and seven PM yesterday. I finally slept last night*, but I can't remember if I ate anything at all yesterday except for a couple of chocolate chip cookies (and even those were a struggle to keep down - I think I managed it through sheer will power and the desire to not faint due to a lack of blood sugar.
To Recap: On Friday, I attended a ridiculously posh lunch (they fed me salmon and almond greens and squash and SOFT ROLLS! They had tiny little butter capsules that had been pressed into fancy designs! with Rhodes' trustees, and entertained them (no not in that way get your mind outta the gutter) with stories of antebellum plantation owners, four years in Rhodes' field school, and the essential nature of fellowship opportunities. My Honors adviser came with, and we had a grand time talking about subzero temperatures, sprawl and the chances of me getting my Honors work published (oh glory.) while both of our trustees were busy checking their fancy phones.
I failed miserably at making companionable small talk, or in adequately explaining everything I've done, but they seemed genuinely interested in my project for a banker and a high rise hotel owner. Honors Adviser stepped in multiple times to help.
And then I was going to drive to the archive center and do some research, but at the last minute saw Sherlock Holmes again with a friend, because my boss gave me a free movie ticket. It's just as wonderful the third time, if you were wondering. Unfortunately, the combination of dark room + gun smoke flashes on a big screen started the migraine, and the rest of my weekend was shot.
Technically, I am at work. At the least I'm sitting in the archaeology lab. There is utterly no one else in the building, much less the basement. It's silent. I love silent, and I love where I work. We have two skeletons - one belonging to a real South American islander who died in the 1930s - that I can prod and examine, a cabinet full of fake Neanderthal and Australopithecus fossils, and an entire wall of bagged artifacts to catalog.
(Though I am feeling slightly remorseful towards my co-worker, whom I haven't seen do any work since late October. The handful of artifacts lying on a table, ready to be tatoo'd and cataloged, are the same ones that were there in October. I wouldn't care, to be honest, if I otherwise wasn't stuck picking seeds out of dirt** and looking for records that don't exist.***)
I know everything that's in this lab. I know where the ArcMap guides are, where to find extra centrifuge tubes, and while I don't know offhand the titles of the books on the shelf, I can probably tell you if we have the one you're looking for. I know that my boss(es) like to hide Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew in the TOXIC! labeled Styrofoam container in the fridge. I know that we have two microwaves, five coffee machines, two boom boxes, one water filter (it doesn't work) and one printer that hasn't turned on for three years. We have plastic cups in the far left middle drawer.
It is, in retrospect, a wonderfully boring place to work. I'm going to get back to it.
*Of course, I spent the latter half of the evening doing my best to NOT fall asleep, for fear of utterly destroying my sleep schedule; but, of course, when 10.00 came around I suddenly found myself wide awake. All the meditation in the world couldn't kill my brain until around 1.00 AM. I started naming bones.
Bones bones bones~
**I have nothing against dirt. I should hope not, seeing as how I'm an archaeologist and all. In fact, I dare say I like my dirt. Sandy loam, clay loam, loam loam. I don't even have anything against sitting at a table for four hours picking tiny little seeds out of dirt. But I'm allergic as hell to Ames, and there is a ton of pollen in this dirt, and I do get tired of constantly sneezing.
*** They truly don't. My boss thinks they do. They don't. Not even Nero Wolfe could make these records appear.
To Recap: On Friday, I attended a ridiculously posh lunch (they fed me salmon and almond greens and squash and SOFT ROLLS! They had tiny little butter capsules that had been pressed into fancy designs! with Rhodes' trustees, and entertained them (no not in that way get your mind outta the gutter) with stories of antebellum plantation owners, four years in Rhodes' field school, and the essential nature of fellowship opportunities. My Honors adviser came with, and we had a grand time talking about subzero temperatures, sprawl and the chances of me getting my Honors work published (oh glory.) while both of our trustees were busy checking their fancy phones.
I failed miserably at making companionable small talk, or in adequately explaining everything I've done, but they seemed genuinely interested in my project for a banker and a high rise hotel owner. Honors Adviser stepped in multiple times to help.
And then I was going to drive to the archive center and do some research, but at the last minute saw Sherlock Holmes again with a friend, because my boss gave me a free movie ticket. It's just as wonderful the third time, if you were wondering. Unfortunately, the combination of dark room + gun smoke flashes on a big screen started the migraine, and the rest of my weekend was shot.
Technically, I am at work. At the least I'm sitting in the archaeology lab. There is utterly no one else in the building, much less the basement. It's silent. I love silent, and I love where I work. We have two skeletons - one belonging to a real South American islander who died in the 1930s - that I can prod and examine, a cabinet full of fake Neanderthal and Australopithecus fossils, and an entire wall of bagged artifacts to catalog.
(Though I am feeling slightly remorseful towards my co-worker, whom I haven't seen do any work since late October. The handful of artifacts lying on a table, ready to be tatoo'd and cataloged, are the same ones that were there in October. I wouldn't care, to be honest, if I otherwise wasn't stuck picking seeds out of dirt** and looking for records that don't exist.***)
I know everything that's in this lab. I know where the ArcMap guides are, where to find extra centrifuge tubes, and while I don't know offhand the titles of the books on the shelf, I can probably tell you if we have the one you're looking for. I know that my boss(es) like to hide Dr. Pepper and Mountain Dew in the TOXIC! labeled Styrofoam container in the fridge. I know that we have two microwaves, five coffee machines, two boom boxes, one water filter (it doesn't work) and one printer that hasn't turned on for three years. We have plastic cups in the far left middle drawer.
It is, in retrospect, a wonderfully boring place to work. I'm going to get back to it.
*Of course, I spent the latter half of the evening doing my best to NOT fall asleep, for fear of utterly destroying my sleep schedule; but, of course, when 10.00 came around I suddenly found myself wide awake. All the meditation in the world couldn't kill my brain until around 1.00 AM. I started naming bones.
Bones bones bones~
**I have nothing against dirt. I should hope not, seeing as how I'm an archaeologist and all. In fact, I dare say I like my dirt. Sandy loam, clay loam, loam loam. I don't even have anything against sitting at a table for four hours picking tiny little seeds out of dirt. But I'm allergic as hell to Ames, and there is a ton of pollen in this dirt, and I do get tired of constantly sneezing.
*** They truly don't. My boss thinks they do. They don't. Not even Nero Wolfe could make these records appear.