Wednesday, December 5, 2012


This post is going to be of a more personal nature, so I'm putting it behind a cut. If you're not all about that Livejournal shit, you'd best skip over this one.

In many ways I am, essentially, exactly where I should be on that life path that I set for myself back when I decided I wanted to be a scientist. I did it right. I got my molecular bio degree and I went to grad school. I'll graduate from here in (hopefully) another year with my PhD. There are places I can go from there.

What I didn't anticipate -- what I couldn't have anticipated -- is becoming what feels like a completely different person. I've always been happy. Sure, in my teens, I would through some moody crap like everyone else does. But generally, I think people would have described me as extroverted, friendly, and fun.

I think I'm still friendly. I think I can still have fun. But four solitary years behind a lab bench and a depression diagnosis later, dealing with other people is kind of an ordeal.

I danced around this in my last post. I've clearly thought about reasons why I don't always enjoy meet and greets, and how I can improve them. My conclusion was that I wanted to talk more about hobbies and interests and less about my day job. So far, so good. But then, a realization smacked me like a tequila hangover: my interests? my hobbies? They're pretty introverted, these days.

What do I do with my spare time? I read blogs, on the internet. I goof around in Tumblr fandoms. I watch Netflix. I read books. Occasionally, I try to exercise. Now, you'll never find me disparaging these things, or even really myself, for liking them. I absorb a lot of different information and material, and I don't think these things are really a waste of my time. They're just all contained. There's not really any such thing as social Tumbling.

Up until October, this didn't really bother me. But now, I find myself desperately wishing that "I read the internet" was the kind of hobby that could impress someone. And then I wonder if that's all part of it, overall. There is a good chance I just became a lot less interesting. My mom and I talk on the phone, and it seems like her favorite line these days is "You're not very talkative." My response, as always: "I don't have a lot to talk about."

I don't really know where to end this. It's hard to find a good conclusion to a lot of jumbled thoughts that could go on forever. I think for now this is where I want to stop, but I might have to pick it up later.

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