BRB.

5 Dec

Finishing three projects, taking three finals, and fixing up my fixer-upper.

Is today really Sunday?

28 Nov

What is it about vacation, no matter how brief, that completely screws up the inner calendar? I suppose it has something to do with breaking the routine. Suddenly, I am without the ebb and flow of labwork to mark the passage of time. These past few days have felt more like the bonus round of a video game, where time should have frozen as I hastily gathered some of the extra lives I’d tucked under the mattress back in August.
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On the thirty-third day of Christmas…

21 Nov

Procrastination isn’t a fault with which I’ve familiarized myself. As an undergrad, I didn’t pull an all-nighter until well into my senior year, and even then it was under the summons of a few very unproductive group members. I’d always easily motivated myself with the promise of a good night’s sleep and some temporary relief from the burden of my schoolwork. Unfortunately, that just ain’t cutting it for me anymore.
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“Diapers”

14 Nov

My life is completely insane at the moment, so rather than a long rambling post which my imaginary readers likely skip over in favor of food porn, you get a slightly shorter anecdote to skip over in favor of food porn. Hey, look—waffles!
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My Twenty Percent

7 Nov

One of my favorite aspects of the Primal Blueprint is the concept of 80/20—I am a serial cheater when it comes my diet, and having that wiggle room built in has not only made me feel more successful, but I’ve found that when I do slip-up, I am less likely to indulge the way I used to (namely, in humongous pastries). My more sensible slip up this week was some dark chocolate bark, which has already made its yearly reappearance in Schnucks alongside a multitude of chocolate Santas stuffed with marshmallows, caramel, or marshmallows and caramel. On Thursday, my slip-up was slightly less sensible. Let’s just say upon premature exposure to the Christmas spirit, my twenty percent grew 3 sizes.
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Happy Pumpkin Day!

31 Oct

For the past week I’ve been trying to remember the last year I went trick-or-treating, but I can’t. I know that I was in high school; I’ve always looked young for my age, so I didn’t feel awkward trick-or-treating through some of the more questionable years. I’m sure that during the last year I didn’t think it was anything special, that it would just be a new costume and the same candy in twelve short months, but suddenly no one was trick-or-treating anymore. They were going to parties, and I was handing out boxes of raisins to the next generation, resentfully eyeing pillowcases full of fun size Butterfingers and tubes of mini-M&Ms.
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Not my beautiful house

24 Oct

I am not a patient person. While I don’t consider this my fatal flaw (that would be a toss up between slovenly tendencies and my desire to live as a hermit), it is one that I am constantly wrestling with. The repercussions are easy enough to handle when they are a result of my own actions: I didn’t feel like waiting for leftovers to heat all the way through, and now they kind of taste like crap. But it is a familiar crap, one that I’ve created. One that I control.
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