wake up, breathe, keep breathing

I read so much in high school. I mean, I read so much all the time growing up. I was a reader. The quiet kid, the weird one. I loved disappearing into another world. I loved meeting the characters there. It was easier to be friends with books. I was never too shy. I never sad the wrong thing. I never wore the wrong clothes. Books, words. A girl doesn't need much more.

In high school I discovered poetry. I had a teacher that started out class one day reciting America, by Allen Ginsberg.

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing. 
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956. 
I can't stand my own mind. 
America when will we end the human war? 
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb 
I don't feel good don't bother me. 
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind. 

I think a lot of it was hearing a teacher say 'fuck' for the first time, but also realizing that poetry can be meaningful and beautiful and have a message and all that, but it could also be raw and selfish. So wonderfully delicious and obscene. And I found that what I loved about books I also loved about poetry. Because there were these worlds that I had yet to visit. And I wasn't alone. And words. I had no idea you were allowed to use words like that.

There were poems that I loved in high school, that I thought I totally got in high school, that only now are coming back to me. In waves, in torrents.

Nicole Blackman, the ambitions are

the ambitions are wake up, breathe, keep breathing
the ambitions are wake up, breathe, keep breathing

Lucille Clifton, the lost baby poem

if i am ever less than a mountain
for your definite brothers and sisters
let the rivers pour over my head
let the sea take me for a spiller
of seas        let black men call me stranger

always        for your never named sake

These poems, they sneak up on me. They tap me on the shoulder and disappear into the shadows. And I have to stop to find them. If I am ever less than a mountain.

I love that ten years ago I loved these poems. That I tried so hard to understand them, that I could at least understand that this was a world that someone else was living in. And then I am so thankful, that I tried, that I read, that I kept reading. Because after a nightmare, the one line I have in my head, wake up, breathe, keep breathing. Wake up, breathe, keep breathing. It was right here waiting for me. And I wasn't alone anymore.

black boxes

We all have black boxes in our lives. Things that work, that we don’t really understand. My car is one. I put gas in it, it takes me places. I don’t really understand how it works. (Maybe this is why two years ago I needed a whole new engine because apparently you are supposed to change the oil?) Ergo, black boxes are fine, until they’re not. And then it would be helpful to know something about them.

As a technician, sequencing was this huge black box for me. I handed off my libraries, they got sequenced, analyzed, and then we back a few files, some graphs, some RPKMs, and that was it. So this is why I decided to to go grad school, right? So I could spend some quality time with SAMtools, figure out what was going on.

It turns out (it always does, doesn’t it?) that I got more than I bargained for. I have a two-week assignment where on Monday, the prof handed us a link to a reference sequence on some online database, two fastq files (raw sequencing reads) and told us to write a perl script to align these reads, give us number of snps, number of indels, etc.

LITERALLY that is all he gave us. Like, perl? I have never used perl. I’m not even sure if I’m supposed to be capitalizing perl. (Ed note: you are.) But hey, I wanted to see what was inside this black box, is there any better way than just being dropped inside of it?

I was thinking about another project for another rotation, which might involve primer design. Primer design is less of a black box, because there are programs where you input the piece of DNA you want to amplify, and the program spits out the ideal primers (taking into account GC content, annealing temperatures and that sort of thing) for that piece of DNA. Next, you take your primers, and do an in-silico PCR, where you go into another program, pick your reference DNA, put your primers in, and it will tell you if your primers map to multiple places on the genome.

So I was walking to my car yesterday, and I was like WAIT. WHAT IF I CAN’T DO THIS. Because if my genomes don’t have a good reference and I don’t really know what’s going on, I can’t do an in silico PCR and what if my primers are horribly designed and map to a thousand places on the genome!

And it hit me. (Not unlike a car, whose engine has run out of oil, this was accompanied by a large clunking sound) I...could write a program that does this. I mean, I could input my own reference. Put in my own primers. Require some specificity, require some distance apart, return the sequence in between, etc. I could probably even email the guy, ask for his code, and put in my reference sequence. Because in programming, that's not plagiarism, that's encouraged! (Sorry I'm totally getting this printed on a shirt at some point.)

Now, this isn’t incredibly groundbreaking. But what’s crazy to me is that I would have never imagined that this was an option before now. Three months ago, I wouldn't have even considered this as an option. To be honest, I would have just winged it, ordered my primers, done the PCRs, hoped that I only got one band and that band was the one I wanted. And that probably would have been fine. But I love that this is an option. I love that I'm learning to think like this. Look! There is one less black box in my life!

**

The other black box in my life is this one. Lena gets on the bus at 7:55 every morning. School starts at 9. What the heck does she do between 8 and 9 in the morning. I’ve tried asking her this, but kids are shit at estimating time. “Just think Lena how long are you on the bus.” and I’ve sort of figured out that she walks her friends to class. But still?? is my kid just wandering around school for an hour in the morning? Do I even want to know?

Kids, the ultimate black boxes.

having it all, giving it up

Grad school is the most overwhelming, exhilarating, humbling thing I have ever experienced. I can’t tell you how wonderful it feels, how I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

I can’t remember if I’ve said this before, but there’s this common thread about being a successful woman and then not being able to “have it all”. And I read these things, and I write them all off--It’s not about “having it all” to anyone else’s standards, it’s about having what you value for your standards. Look, I solved it! Pssh, amateurs.

So….I was wrong.

I want it all. And it hurts so bad when I can’t have it all.

One of my friends is also in grad school with kids, and I saw her last weekend and confessed to her, I haven’t made a real meal on a weeknight since school started. She admitted to the same thing It’s just practically impossible. I leave lab at 5. it takes me 15 minutes to walk to my car, then another 20 to pick up L from afterschool, then another 10 to get home. If we get home by 6, we’re lucky. L has been so exhausted from school, I have to get her in bed by 7:30 otherwise we’ll both end up in tears. So the clock starts when we get home, an hour and thirty minutes to make something to eat, eat, get in the bath, get in jammies, brush teeth, and into bed.

Oh you wanted to just relax with a beer when you got home? ha!

So in this hour and thirty minutes that I have with my kid after school, the last thing I want to do is spend time on an elaborate meal, have her not eat it, and then have to do a bunch of dishes to do afterwards.

Except, I love cooking. It’s how I relax and destress. And I enjoy these meals. And I want to have a healthy, balanced meal at the end of my day, and I want L and I to sit at the table all civilised and talk about our goals and accomplishments.

So...I could leave lab earlier, pick L up earlier, and have a little more time at home. But...I don’t want to leave lab earlier. I love the lab I’m rotating in. I love the project, I love the people. I don’t want to give that up.

I get it now, I get wanting it all, and having it be impossible to achieve. I want to be a rockstar grad student. I want to be an amazing mom. These aren’t entirely unachievable goals, but they’re hard, for sure. I come from a place of privilege, and it’s still hard. And it’s been said before, by people who have spent longer thinking about this issue, but there’s not an easy solution. I mean, my life would be about 500 times easier if I had some sort of cleaning service that did all my laundry and all my dishes. And it would be nice to have someone to cook for me. And someone to entertain L when I’m busy. But (with exceptions to the laundry and dishes) I like cooking. I want to be the one that plays with my kid.

On top of it all, I don’t want to work from home. I want to be in lab. I want to be able to run into my PI’s office at 4:45 and show him the result I got after a full day of work. (!!! THIS HAPPENED AND IT WAS THE BEST FEELING IN THE WORLD.)

So, I’m figuring it all out. In my head I’m starting to rank things that are most important to me, and I’m dropping the ones that aren’t. Because there’s no other way. (That I can see at least, if you have the answer, please, please tell me.) So...we’re eating more pasta. We had vegetarian chicken nuggets, french fries and creamed spinach for dinner last night, and I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it was awesome, but it didn’t stress me out. I’m not watching shows on netflix anymore, but I’m reading a chapter of a book before I go to bed. Because that’s still important to me. L and I bring a book to the bus stop every morning and read together there, because every second with my kid counts. (We finished Charlie and the Chocolate Factory this week, and I cried, and it was the best feeling in the world.) A while ago I signed up for a half-marathon in October. I’m not going to run it. I’ve been running on the weekends, but not nearly as much as I need to be. I’m giving up that goal (for now!)

I want it all. I never realized what that meant, and that I wanted it. But I do. And I don’t want to settle--for what that means to me. I don’t want most of it. I am crazy woman monster who wants it all!






I woke up early to write this blog post, but in the middle of the night L came and slept in my bed. I didn’t want to go anywhere else to write, so I stayed in my room. She woke up early too, and started looking at what I was typing. I didn’t think anything of it until she started mumbling, “So...I...wuh-wuh-was...wuh-ruh-rong.” GODDAMMIT MY KID CAN READ.

Kids man, you have one tiny little handle on everything, and then they go changing it up on you.

Also clearly I am well equipped to handle this:

OH SHIT LENA CAN READ SHE JUST READ OVER MY SHOULDER A BLOG POST AND WHAT DO I DO NOW HELP SHE'S ABOUT TO READ THE WORD SHIT QUICK WHAT
— rachael bloom (@_rachaelbloom) September 13, 2013

internet's out

My internet's out at home, which means I am super productive now, going to bed earlier, and reading a ton.

"A ton" is complete hyperbole, because grad school is kicking my ass so I'm reading one short story every three days or so.

I read one in its entirety last night, and it made me cry.

I found it online for you, if you wish to read it. It's called Dirty Wedding by Denis Johnson.

If you're going to read it stop reading here, I don't want to give you the ending, you should read it the way it was meant to be read.



















These are the words that, as I read them, crept slowly around me, taking up more and more space, finally pressing against me, so that with the final sentence I just sat there, held so completely by these words. I'M A BABY OK I CAN'T HELP IT.

"I know they argue about whether or not it's right, whether or not the baby is alive at this point or that point in its growth inside the womb. This wasn't about that. It wasn't what the lawyers did. It wasn't what the doctors did, it wasn't what the woman did. It was what the mother and the father did together." -Denis Johnson