I'm in the lab right now. Twelve hours later. It's 9 p.m. Mystery eye infection/allergic reaction (which is my new assessment of the situation) still intact. Chloe is massaging Canice.
"I want to have sex in the lab at least one before the end of the year."
"Why are you saying this while you're rubbing my arm?"
(I got my massage earlier. It distracted me while we tried to discuss McClung's story ideas.)
Alina's working on an essay. Nina's staring at values on advertising contracts. Rebecca is telling us a story about her mom while she works on a prototype.
"I was telling her about how we spend all day in the lab and have mini-breakdowns and at least one of us cries every day. But then any time anybody tries to open the door and let the outside world in, we yell at them and slam it shut. We're pretty much hermits."
And now I'm going home. By the time I get home, it will have been a 13 hour day.
And then there's homework to do.
The weird thing is, I'm having fun.
"We're not a family. We're more like a support group. . .and a cess pool of germs."
Pretty much the same thing is going on next door at the Sonian. Your crew should meet our crew for lunch where we can cry and share germs together.
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