kaberett | {how much did we lose to live this way} (Reply)

Two irritations, first of all:

what even is the point of vinyl gloves, for fuck's sake; they tear at the drop of a hat, they are less grippy than nitrile, they're sodding transparent so you can't even use your hand as backdrop for measuring cylinders as effectively, et fucking cetera. (Answer: they hold up to HF for about 30 seconds, and they have lower lead blanks than nitriles. But I would be less furious and upset about this if they hadn't stopped fitting over nitriles on my hands; I can't even tell why, but whereas I used to be fine double-gloving vinyl-over-nitrile smalls in a way that was sufficiently close-fitting to not make me clumsy while loose enough that I could get the vinyls off sensibly, this is NO LONGER THE CASE and it is INFURIATING AND DISTRESSING out of all proportion. I am far more distraught about this than I ought to be, basically.)
A radio having been acquired for the lab means that I'm subjected to the sodding fucking radio when other people are around, and they keep fucking listening to trite misogynist pap on like fucking Heart FM and Absolute Radio and shit, and I just cannot. fucking. even. with the fucking ads about Valentine's day (it's NEVER BEEN EASIER OR CHEAPER to show HOW MUCH YOU LOVE HER because BOOTS FRAGRANCES ARE ON SPECIAL OFFER) and fucking cars (~~~this is her heartbeat when you drive up in a BMW~~~ [woman moans]) and I just. fucking. can't. (I find myself wanting to yell YOU SAID YOU NEVER EVER WANTED ME TO CHANGE AND TO MY DETRIMENT I'M STILL THE FUCKING SAME at the ~love songs~ more often than is healthy, I think.)

Better things:

Vienna Teng. Still on a kick. Lots of Antebellum (title) and Recessional (I want to search for her in the offhand remarks; who are you, a stranger in the shell of a lover? dark curtains drawn by the passage of time...) at the moment. (Also quietly but consistently, Blue Caravan: my true love is a man that I haven't seen in years/he said go where you have to, for I belong to you/until my dying day; so like a fool blue caravan/I believed him and I walked away...)
I got my act together to phone Student Finance England back. I mostly didn't explode in a shower of anxiety, though I did end up slightly snappishly saying "if you're going to use my name all the time, call me Alex", but I think that given that she was, well, using it every other sentence; and I had introduced myself as Alex at the beginning of the call... I did also end up interrupting some, but that was because she was reading off a hideously unclear script that wasn't really relevant. Apparently they really do want me to send them duplicate copies of the letters detailing my endometriosis that they already have, because sending them the exact same copies will mean that I've still got the incurable condition I had at undergrad that I might otherwise have got better from...? Anyway, this is turning into a rant, but the point is, I Did The Thing.
I continue to enjoy the Toby Daye books.
Guiltknitting is on the home stretch - last block of colour, final bit of beading, then finishing.
I have in the oven more of the puttanesca pasta bake, which is brilliant because it means that I am sorted for meals for the rest of the mass spec run.
Supervisor and lab manager concurred it wasn't my fault that the mass spec was playing up (and with any luck it'll behave itself over night so I can start getting data tomorrow).
I have successfully bought the tupperware my supervisor instructed me to, and additionally replenished our stocks of Sainsbury's Basics Italian Hard Cheese and Osem parev chicken-style stock powder.
I have a microwaveable waterproof soup pot thing that has a steam release vent. Realisation of the morning: I can prep hot chocolate in it and microwave it once I'm at work. WINNING HERE.
I tricked myself into rendering the kitchen semi-habitable while dinner was cooking, hurrah, including some long-overdue breadpet-management. (On the downside my hands are still recovering from some insect bites - even with antihistamines in my system I react quite impressively - and are consequently Not Best Pleased with me for the washing-up. No, I can't wear gloves, they're almost all latex and I refuse to use disposables.)
... yeah, actually, I'm really pleased with myself about work stuff - productive conversation with my supervisor in which I requested a meeting to discuss two different areas of the literature in addition to talking about conference wossnames and my 21-month assessment. Maybe if I'm feeling really enthusiastic I'll have an outline of the talk to bring with to said meeting. It is really nice feeling semi-competent.