I woke up this morning in the mood to write, I thought, a passionate yet logical essay about conservation biology and some of the dangers our current ecosystems are facing that many people aren't even aware of. It was not the sort of mood that I can swap for fiction-writing mode (sorry, Lucy), nor was it the sort of thing that's a precursor to scientific papers. It was ranting, albeit a slightly more coherent kind.
I was in the mood. I was in the mood during breakfast, still in the mood while I changed the cat litter. I paid attention in plant genetics and thought about how to incorporate what I was learning into my argument ("when it comes to the environment humanity often behaves like a spoiled child - making a mess without a thought about how to clean up after itself afterwards"). I formulated the paragraphs in my head during lunch, concluded I had some time in the afternoon where I could nip over to the computer lab in Hutchinson hall, and thought I had at least enough time to type up a basic rough draft.
Then I had bioenergetics, and I couldn't think about anything except enzymes for two hours afterwards. Metabolism does that to you. The thought of enzyme is like a incipient bacterial disease: at first there is just barely a thought, lurking insidiously in the back of your mind and then - quite suddenly - they're EVERYWHERE and they crowd out all other thoughts until all you can think about are aldose ketose conversions and why on earth there are so many "ases" (enzyme names always ends in "ase", e.g. kinase, isomerase, etc.) around. Thoughts about the paper and the environment were pushed out. I tried reading an environment-related book for a while but that produced no result except an almost irrepressible urge to lie down and take a nap somewhere. There was no doubt about it - my mood was ruined.
Which is why I am not writing a rant on environment today, after all.
And apparently Kate is still reading this. Hi Kate!
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