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A couple of weeks ago I did some science. That project ended today with me spending 90 minutes head first in an MRI. Ninety minutes is just about my limit.

Overall, the experience was great. I ended up with some cash in hand, learned some stuff, and got two new earrings for my tragus (if you count the plastic retainer) that replace the one I had been wearing for 12.5 years.

The part where I was ready to be done was at about 70 minutes into the MRI. The machine spent 7 minutes making a noise comparable to the first really long tone in a modem dial up. For seven minutes. In my head.

I can tell you for sure, audio torture is the way to get me to tell you anything you want to know. I will tell you the secret recipe for my grandmother’s potato salad at 4 minutes, and if you’re patient I’ll even tell you how to make the Graff Christmas cookies.

I would completely do this again. Now I just hope a decade from now this paper doesn’t show up in Retraction Watch.

Nobody mentioned gluing 60 electrodes to my head.

At least, they didn’t mention it specifically when I replied to one of the many local requests to be a guinea pig for some sort of research work.

With daytime hours available, I replied to one of the ads my husband had seen, and so far it has been kind of interesting. There are three parts, and I will do the final bit on Thursday. I’ve taken 4 different kinds of quizzes and a couple of other baseline sorts of things. I’ve had my eye movements measured and I’ve been timed at how quickly I can accurately juggle numbers and letters in my mind.

So far, the only downside has been 4 students gluing 60 electrodes to my head. Each of them had two of those big q-tips that look like they are going to test me for strep throat. They were just kind of — knitting — on my head — with glue.

When the whole thing was done they offered that I could rinse out my hair (like hospitals, labs seem to always have showers around someplace). I declined because my plan was to go to the gym and run, then shower.

I got to my car (parked on the Carlton St. Deck – right off of Smith St —WHAT???) I found out that my beloved computer – out for repairs for a week – was ready to come home. So I skipped the gym and headed into public with my hair revealing chunk after chunk of white glue.

You know that dental cement that you end up spitting out randomly for a week after you get work done. Like that. With my whole head.

The computer is home, my head has been soaked, it stings like it is covered in road rash but I cannot stop running my fingers around to check and see if I got it all.

I feel pretty. I did science.

On Snowmageddon weeks it is really hard to move our own stuff forward.

Sometimes we can, and sometimes we can’t, and sometimes it is enough to just be present and do the best we can.

Ok. So. Clearly, two lovely people people being shot by lovely photographers in a lovely setting with stunning lighting.

Also. The thing that has been pissing me off for a week.

Jonathan Groff, Lea’s best friend for many years, is making the rounds with her as she advertises her upcoming CD and book. Also, Glee is bringing the focus back around to New York (possibility: the puking shit storm that has been the first half of the season was a panicked distraction to give Lea some time … I’d take that as an explanation).

It is possible, but doubtful, that Lea has tried to incorporate Jonathan into this press junket. I say doubtful because this woman was young Cosette on Broadway for cripes sakes. I imagine she’s better at press junkets than she is at many many social things.

Is it, perhaps, that she has reached an uncomfortable moment in quasi-public-widow-ish-hood. She was in love. He died. Six months have passed, and the album is finished, the book is finished, and it is time to press flesh. BUT NOT THAT FLESH. She did a round of heartfelt renditions of Cannonball (an…odd song, and one of two that Cory never heard) where she often clutched her heart and sung longingly to the rafters.

Steps into the public world still wrapped in Cory’s death. I get that, I really really do.

Then what?

Just let her out there?

A 27 year-old woman, who plays a 19 year old on television. With no (visible, publicly consumed) support? What if she felt sad (she does)? What if she looked happy (she does, she’s worked hard on these projects)? What would send a clear message that she was still bubble wrapped? What would provide the excuse for a moment of non-grief on her face?


The best friend.

Who has been out for a long time.

Who is also beautiful.

I might be wrong. But tell me this, if Bobby Brown and Whitney had still been married when she died – who would have been hovering around the edges six months out?

Did you answer a non-sexually available beautiful woman? No?
Did you answer he’d just be out there living his life without a chaperone?

My entire family woke up today in pleasant humor and well-rested. My husband had taken care of my son’s breakfast, so I was left to my own. I passed up my standard egg & toast with coffee for a cookie covered in blue sugar and half a swig of milk from the carton.

I gathered our mountain of items for school (it was our week for snack, and our weekend for doing laundry), and my gym bag and out the door we went. Snacks were accepted – and it was suggested that I reinforce the first round with some more. Also – we could bring some fruit. This week, my son’s class will only be getting two rounds of raw fruit instead of three per day. My kid doesn’t eat raw fruit and this week he will not have to get “special snack”. But. Noted. More snacks.

I went to the gym without much of a plan. I’ve learned in the last six weeks that whatever I did to my knee roller skating has left something that bounces around like a Plinko ball when I start to run. After 3 or 4 minutes it settles somewhere and is fine. Today, I walked, then ran-ish, quit mid-Plinko, tried the elliptical for about 3 minutes, did Jacob’s ladder for 90 seconds, shrugged and got my bag.

My head was starting to hurt. See also: no coffee.

During my walk and brief trot on the treadmill I started thinking about the difference between playing it safe and pushing boundaries, and about being lazy and self-care. Of the latter, I only recognize it by the way I feel afterward. Of the former – let’s just say that Feb is a new project.

This morning aside, it is time to push a personal boundary or two.