I think I surprised some of you by announcing I was three weeks from full term. I meant full term as in 37 weeks, which, now that I think of it, is a really misleading expression that I will never use again. I’ve got six weeks left officially. But that doesn’t sound like very long either, does it? Six weeks. Eeep! I promise I really will start working hard next week.
But I can’t do it today, as I’m feeling extra in HATE with my career. I submitted a grant proposal that involves a two stage process: submit a short version, be invited to submit a full version. Today I got a voicemail asking whether I intended to submit my full version, due yesterday. Uh…I never received any response to my short version, and certainly didn’t get an invitation to submit the full version. So…that’s sucky. And I got word that our submission to the Big Conference in my field was accepted as a poster, not an oral presentation, so they can go FUCK themselves. The conference is in July, so it’s not like I’d really want to go anyway, but I do feel like evidence that I’m floundering career-wise is beginning to accumulate. And, I learned the partner of Other Best Friend failed to get tenure at his institution. While there may have been good reason, I can no longer pretend that doesn’t ever happen to anyone.
THANK GOD for fetal hiccups. I seriously can’t get enough of them–they are the sweetest and most endearing thing in the whole universe. While they don’t exactly make everything wonderful, at least they remind me how insanely lucky I am. So I’m going to try to shake off these disappointments and focus on my most important task: sending all my good thoughts to Augusta‘s uterus.