The Center, Somewhat Inexplicably, Managing To Hold

It's almost April, apparently. I wouldn't believe it, really, except that it's there--the calendars on my computer and phone insist that it's true. When I think back, I guess I know where the first part of the year has gone. It was tangled up in calorie and fiber counts, in the phenotypes of manganese superoxide dismutase knockout mice and more listenings of "I've Gotta Feeling" in spin classes than I'd ever in my life admit.

But still--almost three months. 90ish days--floating up and away into the breezes of the past. One extended blink--and it's seventy degrees outside, bright. Perfect weather for riding with the car windows down, for skipping Friday afternoon classes and driving to Costco to buy handles of Firefly instead.

***

So, what has happened since I was here last?

I suppose the most important is that I dropped around 25 pounds with my program. This is, of course, a huge deal for me, and I am not even pretending like I'm not proud as hell of myself. Also, in this time, I've picked up a bit of running--I've done two 5Ks. The first, 45 minutes. The second, 37. Waiting for the third (April 10). Can't wait, even.

In 90 days, I've become some version of a runner. A shitty one, albeit. But there's just something about it--about getting halfway there, and then to the end. About putting on music--or none--and just letting your mind slip into it. About going until you want to stop, and not stopping. Hoping you never stop.

***

My research problem changed. First, we thought we were going to do something new, something that hadn't at all been done. And I researched, read papers ad nauseum for a whole week--sitting at my desk, head in one hand, Hi-Liter in the other. And then busted out a presentation, started writing on the board. And we realized--them first, me soon after--that it wasn't going to work. This, my friends, is what we call "science."

Then, we decided something else. Continuation of the work that has already been going on in the lab, but a new direction. The boys in the boy's club telling me that it would be frustrating (but when isn't it?). Then laughing, stopping by the hood, to ask me--"How long have you been doing this prep? Aren't you done yet?" Smiling as I flip them off with my mint-colored medium-sized nitrile-gloved hand.

And I yell back, "Don't you ever do any work around here?" And then we're a family--brothers, like my own brothers. The sisters I never would have imagined. And on days when it's so frustrating, I pout and get angry or let tears come to the edge of my lids--they help. And it's ok.

***

And then, Dr. Faster [this is what I've decided I'll call my jerk-boss, here] comes up to me on a Wednesday. "You're writing a grant." he says, "Due in two weeks."

An NIH grant, a fellowship that would support me for 3 years. Aka, A Lot Of Fucking Money. Aka, My Friends Who Are Writing This Same Grant Started In January. Aka, Due To The NIH In Two Weeks, Not Just To Dr. Faster by Then. Aka, Welcome To The Stress Party, Here's Your Dumb Hat.

***

Just prior to telling me that I have an Indiana-shaped mole on my bajingo, the general practitioner at Student Health asked me if anyone had ever told me I have a heart murmur. Popped his stethoscope on my ears and held it to my sternal border, left side. And there it was.

And my fingertips are all peeling away.

And my body is falling apart. Except for all the running and spinning and weight-lifting and jumping. Except for the parts where it's not actually falling apart at all.

***

"An off-month," we've been calling it. March, with it's confusing weather. It started out so cold we didn't want to leave the house to go to work. And now it's so warm, we don't want to go inside to go to work. And Charlie was gone, doing an away rotation. And I was working on my last few weeks of crazy exercising. And Dr. Faster was away for a week, and half the lab wasn't there. And so, things have been off.

But then, yesterday. Everyone finished their rotations. Charlie came home. We had friends over to the house, cleaned the kitchen and made Irish Car Bomb cupcakes. Poured Firefly and lemonade and drank it with straws. M&Ms and Law and Order for breakfast. And suddenly, brilliantly--everything was ok. I was home. I am home.