Beam me up, Scotty.

Listening to: Sheryl Crow
“And maybe I’m not your perfect kind…maybe we’re just killing time.”
Currently reading: Watermelon - Marian Keys

Very well folks, let’s be serious. I am so not a gentle person.

I’m not the football throwing type obviously, but I’m not what they would first describe as genteel. (Yes, correct spelling.)

Affectionate maybe; empathetic, sure.
Tender might be stretching it.

But all airy fairy, wispy, delicate, I am not.

I do things either with hearty passion or ignore them with utter laziness. Hearty being the operative word.
I laugh heartily, yawn passionately, slouch, tell dirty jokes and swear. Now as unappealing as this is making me out to be, sorry to say, this is who I am. I know how to behave in public, as in when I wear a dress I know how to close my legs and not to slurp my soup or chew with my mouth open (when I remember). But that’s mostly because my mother has practically told me she would be the first person to die of embarrassment if I did not make an attempt at behaving my age. So I behave in public, but that’s about it.

I would say that I am probably the clumsiest, klutz this side of Asia. And no, I am not being dramatic when I say that.

So imagine throwing me in a situation where I have to handle delicate brain tissue with nothing but forceps and a blade, all the while precariously avoiding the sharp end of the cryostat and then meticulously cut out milimeter inch sections and gently place it in solution using said forceps. Seems easy to you right, that’s because you’re probably those delicate finger types, deft and dexterous.

Me? I lost the first section (it just disappeared into thin air – seriously!), crumpled the second and ruined the third. I was supposed to collect ten sections and I had lost/ruined/damaged almost one third of my target – is it any wonder my supervisor gave me a test brain before I jump straight into my experimental ones. My one saving grace is as klutzy as I am, I am a quick learner. So after the first few hundred mini-freak outs, my fingers started behaving themselves and coordinated with the blade and forceps in a graceful manner.

This lack of dexterity is why I’m not a surgeon. I’ll probably have the highest statistic of sewing up the rag during triple bypasses.